


murder raccoon club

by thesecondsmile



Series: raccoon revolution [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Raccoons, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Disaster Steve Rogers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Meet-Cute?, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Raccoon guy Bucky, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, meet-ugly?, raccoon care, raccoon playdates, raccoon rescue!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondsmile/pseuds/thesecondsmile
Summary: With every ring of the phone, his anxiety ratchets up.  When someone finally picks up on the fourth call, he almost sinks to his knees in relief, and blurts out the sentence he’s been rehearsing in his head for the past few minutes.“I HAVE A NAKED BABY RACCOON PLEASE SEND HELP!”“What.”In which recovering war veteran Bucky runs a raccoon rescue, and early morning run-enthusiast Steve stumbles across a tiny, unidentifiable creature and panics.  Featuring raccoon playdates, adorable alliterative names and coparenting adventures!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Series: raccoon revolution [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117670
Comments: 74
Kudos: 126





	1. naked guinea pig

Steve enjoys early morning runs.

The cool air in his face, the quiet peace on the streets, the satisfying burn in his muscles. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement soothes him as he carefully measures his breaths, and he lets his mind wander.

The rest of his day involves sitting down in front of the computer, hunched over whatever task his latest client wants him to do, and so being able to be alone outside for a while is a welcome respite. He enjoys his work, don’t get him wrong, and he is exceedingly grateful that he can do something he loves for a living, but sometimes it can still get a little stifling.

Enjoying the steady movements his body instinctively goes through, he is just about to take his next step when a sudden loud shriek pierces his ears. He snaps his head down and immediately spots a tiny, wriggling body on the ground, right in the path of his foot. Visions of a squashed spot of fur on the concrete flash before his eyes, and he has just enough time to yank his foot out of its path into an awkwardly long stride.

He manages to avoid squishing the creature and bestowing upon it a cruel and untimely death, but he ends up sprawled on the ground, elbows scraping against the gravel of the road and the wind knocked out of his chest slightly. Shaking his head to reorient himself, he peers back at the near victim of a sudden death.

It’s a puny little thing, with four small paws, a thin, twig-like tail and a pink body covered only by a light dusting of fur. It seems almost grotesque in its appearance, and Steve stares at the body in morbid fascination for a good few moments. The body then lets out a screech far louder than its size would suggest it was capable of, and that’s enough to remind Steve that there is a living creature in front of him and not some museum exhibit.

Panicking significantly, Steve fumbles for his phone, listening to the phone continue to ring with increasing trepidation. Finally, on the last ring, he hears something get knocked to the ground, and a stumble followed by a muffled curse. A tired voice picks up and Steve releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“...ello?”

“SAM! I need your help! There’s this unidentifiable creature on the ground and I don’t know what to do!”

Steve’s anxious statement is met with silence as Sam slowly digests the information and blinks himself awake.

“Steve man, it’s 6am, what are you even doing up?”

He runs a frustrated hand down the side of his face. “I was on my run Sam! You know I like to get up early and start the day rig— That’s not the point! There’s this little kind of furless guinea pig on the ground and it’s so small and I almost stepped on it—”

“Steve, Steve, you gotta breathe man. Okay so we have this naked guinea pig,” Sam says slowly in what Steve knows is his _therapist voice_ , trying to wrap his head around the words. “Why would there be a naked guinea pig wandering around some neighbourhood in New York?”

“I don’t know, okay!” Steve bursts out in frustration. “It might be a ferret, a possum or a squirrel for all I know! There’s just this weird little rodent creature here and there’s no one around and I don’t know what to do!”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, take a breath, we’re going to figure this out, okay? First things first, we gotta figure out what this is so we know what to do with it. Bruce spent some time doing some research on wildlife, didn’t he? Man might have a PhD in it even, why don’t we ask the group chat and see if they know what it is?”

Steve has never been so glad for Sam’s steadiness and sensible instincts in times of crisis. Quickly, he hangs up on Sam and takes a slightly blurry photo and sends it to the chat with his ragtag group of friends collected over the course of his life.

_**Assembly of Avengers** _

<insert picture of unidentified baby creature>

_Captain Obvious:_ GUYS HELP WHST IS TJIS I FOUNDT IT ON MY RUN AND I DONT KNOW WHTA IT IS 

Surprisingly, a flurry of responses come flying in.

_The Stark Truth:_ No idea dude, 

_Viking God:_ My apologies, friend Steven! I do not believe we have such creatures in Asgard so I am unfamiliar with it!

_hawkguy:_ Sorry guys, birds are more my thing. I can tell you that it’s nothing we had in the circus tho.

_The Jolly Green Giant:_ Hmm, it’s definitely a rodent of some sort, maybe an opossum or a raccoon? Sorry I can’t be much more help, it’s quite hard to tell until their markings come in.

_Red Menace:_ It’s a raccoon. 

_Bird boi #2:_...what is everyone doing awake?

_The Jolly Green Giant:_ Science.

_hawkguy:_ Ran into a dumpster and got a concussion, can’t sleep for 24 hours.

_Red Menace:_ Clint ran into a dumpster and got a concussion, have to jab him every hour to make sure he’s not falling asleep.

_Viking God_ : I am currently in another Time Zone visiting my lady Jane at the moment!

_The Stark Truth:_ I never sleep.

_Bird boi #2:_ Fair enough. More importantly, how did you even know that it’s a raccoon nat?

_Red Menace:_ There are a lot of raccoons in Mother Russia.

Steve has known Natasha long enough to not be surprised by anything that she says, so he’s just exceedingly grateful that someone happened to know what the baby creature was. Typing out a quick thanks to everyone in the chat, he calls Sam again.

“Okay, now that we know that it’s a baby raccoon, what do we do? Do they teach raccoon care anywhere?”

“Right ahead of you. I did some quick research and it seems that raccoons potentially carry rabies—” 

Even though he’s not touching the raccoon, Steve jumps back a few feet instinctively. 

“—but as long as you don’t come into direct contact with it, it should be fine. But as a result, you’re not allowed to keep them unless you have a special license. Now it doesn’t seem like there are any wildlife rescues anywhere near you, and certainly none that are open at this hour, so…” 

He trails off and Steve runs his hands through his hair in frustration. What is he supposed to do with a baby raccoon? He’s an artist, so the closest thing he knows about raccoons is Wilber, the mascot for the graphic design software GIMP.

He hears the rapid clicking of keys and a triumphant _aha!_ in the background before Sam’s voice comes over the line again. “Okay, so I found a list of licensed wildlife rehabilitators online that can help take care of raccoon babies so I’m sending you a number! Some person called ‘Bucky’, so go and call them and see if they can help.”

Steve feels a wave of reassurance crash over him. He has a game plan now.

“Thank you so much Sam, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I know, I know, I’m incredible. Bye, now I’m going back to sleep, please don’t bother me again.”

With a final click, Sam hangs up and presumably goes diving back into bed. Steve locates the number and immediately presses it. His hopes are dashed when no one picks up. Not deterred yet, he calls again. 

And again.

With every ring of the phone, his anxiety ratchets up. When someone finally picks up on the fourth call, he almost sinks to his knees in relief, and blurts out the sentence he’s been rehearsing in his head for the past few minutes.

“I HAVE A NAKED BABY RACCOON PLEASE SEND HELP!” 

“What.”

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he feels himself die a little inside. He closes his eyes in absolute mortification and counts slowly to ten as he tries to collect himself and recover from that utterly humiliating introduction. _Get it together Rogers!_

“Hello? Who is this?”

The voice that speaks is groggy with sleep a, but Steve can’t help but note how rich and deep it is. He allows himself to swoon a little, captivated by the rough quality in the speaker, before a tiny squeak from below snaps him out of his fantasy. _Now is not the time to go thirsting after some strange guy’s voice! There’s a tiny animal that needs your help so get with it!_ Slightly abashed, he scolds himself and turns his attention back to the vulnerable animal on the ground.

“H-Hi! I, um, found this baby raccoon and I can’t see its mother anywhere. It’s making these kind of squeaking noises and it doesn’t really have much fur and it’s just lying in the middle of the sidewalk and I don’t know what to do so I found your number online for raccoon rescuers and I thought I could call you—”

He knows he’s babbling, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He wants to kick himself for that embarrassing stutter and the incomprehensible message, but it’s better than his first attempt at least. _Small victories,_ he supposes, _I’ll take what I can get._ Meanwhile, the voice on the other end seems to have perked up with the mention of a creature in need. 

“Okay, well you’ve done the right thing so far. Can you tell me your name?”

He squeaks out his name and resolutely ignores the slight shudder than runs down his spine when the voice says his name.

“Right Steve, I’m Bucky and I’m going to need your help with this baby raccoon while we figure out the best course of action.

The voice — _Bucky’s_ voice, he adds _(Not the time Steve!)_ — takes on a professional tone as Bucky calmly walks Steve through a list of questions. 

_Are the baby’s eyes open?_ No. _Does it have any markings?_ A few dark patches near the eyes, but not much else. _Are you near an official wildlife rescue facility?_ No. _Are you able to transport the animal to another location?_ No, I don’t have a car. _Do you have time to wait for someone to come and collect the animal?_ Yes, I work from home and I set my own hours. _Where are you right now?_ After peering around at a few signs to figure out where exactly he is, Steve rattles off his location nervously, clutching the phone, his lifeline, tightly.

“Great job there Steve, giving me all sorts of useful information about this baby raccoon. From what you’ve described to me, it sounds like a newborn, definitely less than a week old, so without a mother, it doesn’t have a chance of survival. Since you don’t have transportation, I’ll come over to your location, which is just maybe 20 minutes away from where I am right now. Are you okay to stick around for that time to just make sure nothing happens to the baby while I drive over?”

Feeling a lot calmer now that he has someone qualified telling him what to do, he answers his assent. 

“Great! Okay, what you need to do right now is to try to keep the baby warm. They’re at a high risk for hypothermia when they’re that young, so if you have any soft fabric to wrap it with, or a hot water bottle that you can set safely next to the baby, that would be good,” Bucky instructs patiently.

Steve looks around him briefly. “Um, all I have with me are my shirt and shorts.”

“What? Why?” Steve groans at the confusion and incredulity in Bucky’s tone.

“I was out running so I don’t have anything else with me and I just came across the raccoon! I’m a few miles away from my house so I can’t get anything from there and I don’t think it’ll be safe to run back carrying the baby with me.”

He can tell that Bucky is taken aback. “At 6am? Why are you like this?”

Steve throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. Why does everyone judge him for being an early riser and leading a healthy lifestyle? “I like to start my morning with some exercise okay, but that’s besides the point!”

“Alright, alright. This isn’t ideal, but you could even just gently pick the baby up and wrap him in the hem of your shirt, roll it up a few times so it’s snug and having your body heat would probably be enough to keep it warm while I get there.”

A painful pause passes before Steve answers in a small voice. 

“...No.”

“What? What do you mean no? Just roll your shirt up with the baby in it!”

Steve feels the tops of his ears turn red. Sam would have a field day knowing that all his comments about the size of Steve’s shirts might actually hold some weight. “I mean um, I can’t roll my shirt up because it’s too tight and the fabric won’t stretch.”

“Are you kidding me.” Bucky’s tone is dry and Steve can feel the judgement coming in through the phone. 

“I don’t like my shirt flapping in the wind when I run!” He answers defensively, trying furiously to tamp down on the blush rising up his cheeks. He can almost imagine Bucky pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Alright then,” Bucky says, dragging the word out, making clear that he’s rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. Steve’s face is on fire. Bucky gives a long-suffering sigh and huffs out impatiently, “You’ll just have to take off your entire shirt and use it to swaddle the baby, kind of like a burrito.”

Steve feels his face grow warm at the idea of being shirtless in the middle of a residential area. Tight shirts are one thing, but standing around shirtless like he’s trying to show off would just make him look like a douche.

As if he can sense Steve’s hesitation, Bucky grinds out with an irritable edge, “Just do it! There’s no one around at this godforsaken hour and it’s really important to keep babies warm. Just wrap him up and wait for me to get there, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Taking a quick look around as if to confirm that there’s no one there, Steve takes a deep breath before quickly whipping off his shirt. _Do it for the baby raccoon._

The whole time, said baby raccoon has been making these tiny whimpering noises that go straight to Steve’s heart. As cautiously as he can, he bends down and picks the tiny creature up, wrapping it snugly in his shirt until it’s nicely swaddled in a cozy little burrito. It lets out a pleased little chuff and almost seems to burrow deeper into the makeshift blanket. Steve feels a bright smile break out across his face. 

“Hey little guy, or little lady I guess, I’m not sure what happened to your mama, but Bucky will be here and he’s going to take real good care of you. It’ll take him a while to get here, and until then, it’s just you and me against the world, alright?”

He murmurs softly to the little body in his hands, feeling a strange protective surge for this tiny, helpless infant. He stares at its shivering frame almost swallowed by the layers of fabric, looking so small in his huge, clumsy hands. It’s a somewhat surreal feeling, holding a real life in his hands, and he vows to himself that he will protect this baby.

  
  


*****

  
  


20 minutes later, Steve has not renounced his vow to protect innocent animals against all the evil in the world, but he has to admit that the quest involved much more heroism and much less public humiliation in his head. Thus far, he has received four weird looks from soulless businessmen trudging up the street with their briefcases to their mindless corporate job, a suspicious glare from a mother who grips her child a little closer to shield him from the strange half-naked man standing in the middle of the street and not a small number of unsubtle leers from college-aged girls wearing slouchy beanies and black leggings.

Steve is about to give up the rest of his dignity and go hide in a bush to avoid all of the coming public scrutiny when he suddenly sees a beat-up old truck come sputtering up, stopping right beside him. Bucky must have finally arrived, and what a sight he has arrived to.

Steve had figured from the sexy voice across the line that Bucky must have been a pretty attractive guy, but nothing could have prepared him for the man that steps out of the driver’s seat.

The man has dark brown hair that was clearly tossed up quickly into a messy bun in a run, but still frames his striking blue eyes and luscious lips perfectly.. Wrapped in dark jeans that cling to sinfully muscular thighs, Bucky does a casual strut towards Steve that appears effortless but is having a major impact on Steve’s hormones, a large box in his gloved hands that only serves to accentuate the defined muscles in his arms even from under his long-sleeved red Henley.

Clutching a baby raccoon wrapped in his repurposed t-shirt in his arms, Steve knows that this is the most starstruck he’s been since he had his great bisexual awakening in high school. He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat.

When Bucky finally makes his way over to Steve, he sets the box down on the ground and comes close enough that Steve can feel the warmth of his body. 

“Hey,” he murmurs softly to the little raccoon and Steve is in love. “Let me get a good look at you, little guy. It’s been a rough start in life for you, but I’m going to make sure you grow up all strong and prepared to be the biggest, baddest raccoon on the block, kay?”

When Bucky moves to gingerly take the raccoon from his arms, Steve willingly surrenders it. 

Bucky opens the box, which turns out to be a mini raccoon home complete with a soft looking fleece blanket and a hot water bottle. He makes quick work of reswaddling the baby before placing it gently in one corner of the box, where it nestles in comfortably. Steve just stands awkwardly at the side, watching the entire process unfold with a dry mouth, head still swimming from the slight twang that he caught when Bucky spoke to the raccoon.

With the raccoon now safely secured, Bucky turns towards Steve and the two just look at each other for a bit, unsure of what to say. This meeting has been bizarre, to say the least.

The awkward silence is broken by a group of girls that pass by them giggling obnoxiously, and one particularly brazen one leans back and gives a loud wolf-whistle. Steve feels his entire face flame and Bucky is failing to keep his laughter hidden.

“Alright so, as that demonstrates, I probably don’t want to leave you here to be fed to the wolves in case you need rescuing later on,” Bucky says with a laugh. Steve applauds himself silently for resisting the urge to say _you can come rescue me anytime._

“I would prefer to go settle this little guy in properly first since he’s been out facing the elements for quite some time now and it’s best to get some fluids in him, but if you don’t mind tagging along, I can drive you home later. Sound like a plan?”

Steve feels a little thrill rush through him. He’s certainly pleased to not have to run all the way home after this morning’s exhausting debacle, but more than that, he’s jumping at the chance to spend some more time with this beautiful man.

“Yeah, that’d be great! I didn’t even think about getting home after this,” he says with a nervous chuckle at the end, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

Shooting back a quick grin at him, Bucky turns back to hop in the driver’s seat, settling the box securely with the little strap that he has installed in the backseat. Steve blindly follows and slips into the passenger seat.

*****

The ride to Bucky’s place is exciting.

Steve fumbles through a few conversation starters, but once he asks Bucky some questions about the rehabilitation process, the man relaxes and begins to expressively share the main points of raccoon care. Much of the information is flying above Steve’s head, but seeing those blue eyes light up and how passionate Bucky is about the subject stirs up warm feelings in his chest.

He enjoys watching Bucky talk so much that he feels a slight pang of dismay when they arrive at Bucky’s house, a sensible little apartment with a small garden at the back. Steve notes with a hidden glee that it doesn’t appear to house anyone other than Bucky, like a girlfriend or spouse.

Bucky pushes his way through the front door, gesturing for Steve to follow. Once he gets inside, he switches on a light and sets the box on a table before stripping off his gloves and Henley, leaving him in a plain black tank top. 

Steve has to hide his gulp at the sight of Bucky’s bare arm, and when he turns towards the light— 

_Oh._

It’s a sleek, grey metal prosthetic that attaches right to the shoulder in an explosion of angry-looking scar tissue. 

Bucky must notice Steve’s sudden staring and his face drops slightly, but he quickly veils it with a charming smirk and walks over to the box.

“Lost it in Afghanistan, but now I have this thing right here which comes in awful handy when I need to pick up one of these guys without worrying about them biting me.”

To demonstrate, he carefully picks the little raccoon up, and Steve melts a little at the sight of this ripped, powerful man cradling a tiny little animal so gently.

“Sorry for staring, but yeah, I definitely see the advantages of that!”

Bucky waves the apology off and points Steve to a small little fenced-in area at the side of the room. 

“I’m going to go get this guy all comfy in his new home in my bedroom over there, but in the meantime, you can have a little look at the rest of my pals in the corner over there. Just make sure to keep your fingers away because they’re crafty little fellows, and for the love of God, do not open the door.” 

With those ominous words, Bucky vanishes into the room at the end of the hallway. Slightly bewildered, Steve makes his way to the mentioned fence and has to muffle a scream when he sees three beady pairs of eyes staring back at him.

_More raccoons!_

It makes sense now that he thinks about it, given that Bucky clearly has experience with taking care of raccoons, but it’s still fairly shocking to see surprise raccoons pop out from the corner of someone’s living room. After his initial surprise, Steve finds that he enjoys looking at the raccoons.

They have these deep, intelligent eyes that spark with so much curiosity, and he has the impulsive desire to hold their tiny little hands that he only manages to suppress when he recalls Bucky’s warnings to not touch them. They too seem fascinated by him, and he starts making funny little faces to try to entertain them.

That is the scene that Bucky walks in on when he returns to the living room with a plain black shirt in one hand. Steve stands up quickly with red painting his face, but Bucky just has an amused smile.

Tossing the shirt over, he says, “Little guy seems to have a real liking to your shirt and won’t let go of it, so I hope you don’t mind if he keeps it for a little bit, or forever, depending on whether you’re comfortable wearing a raccoon shirt again. In the meantime, you can have one of mine for the ride home.”

With a fond smile, Steve nods his thanks and catches the shirt, slipping it over his head in a single fluid motion. He tries to pretend not to breathe in deeply, but he secretly relishes in the scent of Bucky that saturates the shirt. Even though Bucky is a big guy, Steve’s proportions exceed him as well, so the shirt stretches tight over his chest.

He wonders if he imagined the slight blush on Bucky’s cheeks and the man muttering under his breath, “ _now I understand why his exercise clothes are so tight…”_

Shaking himself out of that rabbit hole, he follows Bucky to the truck, and somewhat reluctantly, leaves Bucky’s home.

  
  


*****

Now that the raccoon population in their vicinity has dwindled to 0, the ride back to Steve’s house is uneventful. They do exchange some light banter that has both of them letting out little snickers every now and then, but it is over far too soon.

Steve thanks Bucky before awkwardly climbing out onto the pavement. This will probably be the last time they see each other, so Steve lets himself have one last long, indulgent look at Bucky’s handsome face, and stays on the pavement for a long time, watching the truck drive away.

When he finally drags himself back into his house, he collapses at his table. Putting his head in his hands, he takes one last whiff of Bucky’s shirt before stripping it off. 

He really needs a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new fic! this will be my first longish fic and it's going to be mostly fluffy!
> 
> I love raccoons and I'm quite interested in animal rescue, so this fic popped into mind :D I have all the chapters planned out and it is going to be fun and adorable so I really hope everyone enjoys! Chapters will come out hopefully one a week :-)
> 
> please kudos and comment to let me know if you liked it and if you want to see more! happy reading everybody :0)


	2. feeding and frenzies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky reflects on his journey to becoming a Raccoon Caretaker Extraordinaire and Steve tries to figure out how to see Bucky again. A vicious attack takes place and one little raccoon has a full tummy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: one small mention of past animal death (not graphic, from natural causes) and another somewhat explicit scene of plant murder by a savage killer.

Steve has been restless all week.

He managed to finish up that logo commission for some strange start-up company (really, who even thought that an orange octopus with a skull head would be a good idea for a mascot? Oh well, whatever floats their boat.) and did some cursory cleaning up of his apartment. But other than that, nothing much.

It seems like the week has dragged on forever, and if not for the fact that he hasn’t seen Bucky in such a long time, he would almost think that no time had passed at all. As it were, all he has now to remember that fateful encounter is a missing exercise shirt, a new exercise shirt from which Bucky’s scent has long disappeared and a contact in his phone that is decidedly _not_ saved under “Bucky!! ❤️❤️❤️ (Raccoon guy)”.

Letting out a groan, he dives forward and plants his head on the desk that he’s sitting at. What a miserable existence he has.

As he does whenever he’s bored and has nothing to do, he calls Sam. Hopefully some wholesome conversation with a close friend will help keep his mind off of things.

“Hey, is this important? I’m kind of watching the latest episode of Queer Eye and I really want to see how Bobby’s going to fix this dump.”

Nevermind then. 

“ _Saaaamm_ ,” he whines. “It _is_ important! I haven’t seen Bucky in almost a week and I’m so alone and dissatisfied with my life!” As he describes the problem, his situation appears even more bleak to him and he slumps further down into his ergonomic rolly-chair. 

He hears a tired sigh and a single ‘click’ signalling that the TV has been switched off. Sam is the _best._

“Bucky is the ...raccoon man right? The one you shouted embarrassing things at after calling him four times in the morning at 6am and then stood around shirtless like a tool while he wrangled a baby raccoon?” On the other side of the phone, Steve lets out a tortured whale noise and buries his face in his hands. His suffering is met only by a shameless guffaw at Steve’s expense that Sam has made no attempt to disguise. Sam is the _worst._

Unflapped by his offhand mention of Steve’s ultimate humiliation, Sam continues on. “Hmm,” he ponders thoughtfully. “Well, the man agrees with me about the inappropriate tightness of your shirts, seems like he has a pretty good head on his shoulders. I approve.”

Steve feels his face flame. “They’re not _that_ tight,” he grumbles. 

“You keep telling yourself that man. Anyway, if you like him so much, why didn’t you just ask him out? You said that you had a good conversation in the car, right?”

At that memory of Bucky, he lets out a wistful sigh. Bucky was so funny, and a great listener too. Even though the conversation was short and centered mostly around the intricacies of raccoon fur development, it was more than enough for Steve to feel that deep connection, one that he is more than eager to experience again.

He tells Sam as much, and manages to get out a good stanza about Bucky’s confident swagger and contemplative face before Sam cuts him off.

“Ugh, I hate to have to say this, but Steve, you’re you know, not too bad-looking, you have a steady job with a decent paycheck, you like drawing and doing all sorts of outdoorsy stuff… If you like him, just call him!”

At Sam’s words, Steve straightens up. He thinks for a moment, reflecting on himself and all that he has accomplished in his 26 years. 

Yes he is! He is an attractive and successful working professional with a sensitive artistic side! He is a total catch! He can so do this!

Chest puffed out in pride, he goes to tell Sam about his newfound confidence and deflates. 

“But isn’t it weird? I only have his number because we looked it up on that raccoon rescuer registry…”

Another pained groan. Sam seems unacceptably insensitive and blase about his plight.

“Gosh, just say you’re concerned about the raccoon and ask how it’s doing! Then offer to meet up to give him his shirt back. This isn’t rocket science man.” Steve can hear the annoyance in Sam’s voice, but easily ignores it, what with how his heart is leaping in jubilant anticipation. What a brilliant idea! 

He leaps up in excitement and shouts a quick thanks to Sam, hearing a muttered _Finally, now back to my boy Bobby!_ before he hangs up unceremoniously.

Giving himself a moment to get the wild smile on his face under control, he scrolls down to his ‘B’ section and clicks on ~~Bucky!! ❤️❤️❤️ (Raccoon guy)~~ Bucky (Raccoon rehabilitator).

  
  


*****

  
  


Settling the little raccoon back down onto the fleece blanket tucked in the corner of his temporary raccoon home, Bucky smiles fondly as it gives a satisfied grunt. 

Feeding for babies under two weeks old needs to be done every two hours, and after three years of raccoon care, Bucky is quite the veteran in the art as well. Nonetheless, it never fails to give him a warm feeling in his chest when he sees a little mouth suckle on to the bottle and drink to its heart’s content.

It still feels slightly surreal, being tasked with caring for such a small creature, serving as their surrogate mother. Still, it is a responsibility that he would not trade for the world, as hard as it was for him to imagine when he first started out.

  
  


*****

  
  


When Bucky first got home from Afghanistan with 5 fewer members of his squad and a new shiny metal arm, he didn’t sleep much.

It wasn’t just the discomforting softness of his mattress after years of sleeping on hard, desert floor, nor was it the eerie silence of his apartment that somehow kept him up more than the familiar sounds of bombs going off in the distance. It wasn’t even the dark shadows stretching across his bedroom floor like the way rivers of blood would pool across the dunes of sand, or the phantom whispers of dead children laughing or his comrades screaming. 

Instead, it was the strange emptiness of the bed beside him.

He was so used to having a small rectangle of space to himself, where if you rolled to one side, you were met with a warm body and some loud snoring, and if you rolled to the other side, worse still, you were met with a face full of cold feet. When he woke up alone, he would sometimes tell himself, _oh it’s okay, you can just go meet up with the guys for breakfast in the mess hall._

Then he would realise that he couldn’t go meet up with the guys because he left them in pine boxes in Afghanistan and the only mess left was the one in the desert. Until that moment, he had never felt so alone.

That night, after waking up for the nth time breathing heavy with his back drenched in cold sweat after countless sleepless nights, he gave up and decided to just use his phone. One of the things that he had turned to after coming home to catch up with all the things that he had missed was to scroll through Facebook, where he could stalk old classmates and see their happy families and fulfilling jobs, or look at videos of cute animals. 

The latter was a guilty pleasure for him (as opposed to just being guilty) and so he got himself ready for a few mind-numbing hours of adorable otters hugging or silly donkeys running around. He watched silently for a few minutes before watching a heart-warming video about someone nursing a baby deer back to life.

_It would be nice,_ he thought, _if I was someone who protected and cared for other creatures instead of killing and destroying everything around me._ Shaking himself out from his dark thoughts, he moved to give the video a ‘like’ but accidentally clicked on one of the other posts below it.

Scowling furiously, he quietly cursed the unfamiliar functionality of his foreign new arm and moved to close the page when he caught sight of the first few lines of text.

_Have a lot of time on your hands?_ Chuckling dryly to himself, he thought about the empty stretches of days that loomed before him. Being a crippled vet with night terrors didn’t give you many employment options or hobbies.

_Don’t mind staying up late or even all through the night?_ Obviously not, judging by his current situation.

_Want to help love and care for something that will keep you company and bring joy to your life in return?_ This one made him pause for a moment. It hit a little too close to home, and Bucky had to blink back the sharp prickling of tears before moving on.

_Well if this is you, then we would love to have you join us as a wildlife rehabilitator! Continue reading to find out how you can get the qualifications and training to do so._

At the bottom of the post, there was a short disclaimer, and Bucky flicked his eyes over it briefly. No matter what it was, he had already decided that he was going to help vulnerable animals.

_Warning: as these are wild animals, some may carry diseases, and it is important to know that you are at risk for things like rabies if they bite you and break the skin._

Laughing somewhat hysterically, he looked at his metal arm with a fond smile for once. _Looks like this thing might be good for something after all._

  
  


*****

  
  


When Bucky first laid eyes on his first raccoon baby, he immediately understood how new parents fell in love with their babies at first sight. Blinking back tears, he slowly reached out and gingerly accepted the small creature, taking in its little sprawling limbs and furry furrowed brow. It was drooling slightly and making little chittering noises as it valiantly tried to go back to sleep.

It was perfect. 

On the ride home, Bucky drove cautiously at a snail’s pace. Other drivers cursed at him and angrily overtook him, but that didn’t matter. He had precious cargo now.

He had spent the past few weeks reading all about raccoon care and attending trainings to receive his official wildlife rescue license, and he was confident that he had all the necessary information. He had even purchased a tiny, hardy cactus to practice taking care of a living thing, and the plant was thriving. With every new spike that Mr Porcupine grew, Bucky beamed with pride.

Staring at the angelic sleeping face, Bucky knew that he would do anything for this sweet little baby.

  
  


*****

  
  


He was wrong. 

It had been three weeks of nerve-wracking round-the-clock care and secret cooing over the sheer adorableness of his new roommate. Then, the raccoon learned to walk.

One of the rare snatches of sleep that Bucky got was interrupted by a suspiciously loud scratching sound and some oddly gleeful chirps. His eyes snapped open, taking a moment to adjust to the dark before he located a pair of glinting eyes in the darkness. Standing proudly and unabashed. On the opposite end of the room from where his enclosure was located.

Panic coursing through him, he flicked on the light, he looked in horror as a roomful of carnage was illuminated. Papers ripped to shreds scattered callously around the floor, furniture corners nibbled to oblivion, kitchen appliances overturned and sprinkled with suspicious puddles of yellow.

Worst of all, the evil raccoon’s masterpiece lay in the centre of the room. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what the broken pieces of green pulp, mounds of dirt and sad little pot lying on its side meant. 

_“MR PORCUPINE!”_

Sprinting forward and falling to his knees, Bucky desperately tried to pick up the fallen pieces of his former beloved plant and glue them together with shaking hands. It was all in vain.

Bowing his head in sorrow, he took a few deep breaths. After a few moments, he looked back up and locked eyes with the raccoon. Not a glint of remorse in those beady eyes.

Stalking forward, he gripped the raccoon by its scruff firmly and brought him up to eye level. According to his research, this was what mother raccoons did to control their children when they were acting especially wild and the _despicable_ actions of tonight certainly qualified.

Looking straight at the little ruffian, he narrowed his eyes. The time to mourn Mr Porcupine and pick up the pieces of his broken life would come later. Now, he needed to handle the raccoon.

In his quest to consume all raccoon-related media, he had also stumbled upon an old song by the Beatles about a strange homicidal raccoon on a revenge quest.

Looking at that deceptively innocent face, he knows just what to name the little devil. 

“Well then, little rascal, I hereby name you Rocky Raccoon” he declared.

*****

  
  


After that first disaster, life with Rocky becomes his new normal.

It isn’t always easy, and there are several other raccoon tantrums that have Bucky struggling not to also scream back at him like a feral creature. _You are the bigger person. You’re an adult, damn it! You can’t go screeching at a raccoon just because he did it first!_

Still, cuddling up with Rocky in a soft nest of blankets, watching him learn how to climb a tree, those are all memories that Bucky will cherish forever. Ever since Rocky came into his life, it’s been brighter and all the loneliness has been chased away by the happy chirps of a little raccoon.

And if on particularly bad nights where the shadows cling especially tightly to his face, if anyone asks if he took matching photos with Rocky of their raccoon eyes, he’ll never admit it.

  
  


*****

  
  


Busying himself with cleaning up the small bottle, Bucky lets his mind drift over potential names. 

There is always the fear, especially with babies this young, that they won’t survive under these dire circumstances. Bucky has been fortunate enough to have only lost two over the several litters he’s cared for, but it still pierced a deep wedge into his heart, having to bury those tiny bodies in miniature makeshift coffins in the garden behind his house.

His heart is too soft to bear losing one that he’s grown to love dearly, so he always holds off the naming process until he’s fairly certain that they’re out of the woods. This way, he’s also able to match their names to their personalities, which come out more when they start to be able to move, as his first venture with Rocky demonstrated. (Let Mr Porcupine never be forgotten.) 

His latest tenant is still just under two weeks, so it’s far too early to begin considering names, but Bucky still lets his thoughts float. The lull of the afternoon is broken by the sound of his phone ringing.

Swiftly rinsing the bottle and leaving it on the rack, he dries his hands and goes to answer the phone. He does a double take at the caller ID (‘Steve the shirtless raccoon fool’) but picks up anyway.

“Bucky, hey!” Steve’s voice is slightly breathless, but his opening line seems a bit more normal than their first introduction. (Bucky still cracks up thinking about it and may or may not have written it down in the ‘notes’ section of Steve’s contact information.)

“Hi Steve, I just finished feeding the little guy, what’s up?”

“Oh, well that’s kind of exactly why I called — it’s been about a week and I was wondering how he’s been doing… I also have your shirt by the way!”

“He’s doing pretty well, still just sleeping most of the time. About the shirt, I wasn’t really expecting to get it back, so you can keep it or toss it if you want.”

Steve’s slightly frazzled response comes almost immediately. “Oh no, you weren’t planning to have to clothe a half-naked guy and I wouldn’t feel right keeping the shirt or throwing it away.”

Bucky gives a low chuckle at that. He wouldn’t normally do this, but there is something about Steve’s earnestness that endears him to Bucky.

“In that case, you could come over to return it? Little guy just went to sleep with a full belly so he probably won’t be up for another hour or so. Why don’t you come over around then to drop the shirt off, or maybe even come in for a bit to see how he’s doing for yourself?”

Bucky trails off awkwardly, but Steve jumps up at the invitation instantly, and Bucky feels a small thrill shoot through him at Steve’s exuberance.

“Alright then, I’ll see you in a bit!”

“Great, until then!”

If he’s still smiling when he hangs up, he doesn’t notice.

  
  


*****

  
  


Pulling up to the familiar exterior of Bucky’s house on his motorcycle, Steve wipes his sweaty palms down on his jeans and tries his best to fix his hair. The last thing he wants to show up to Bucky’s place with is helmet hair.

He had been practically vibrating with excitement on the ride there, the speed of the motorcycle doing nothing to dampen the adrenaline rushing through his veins. It had been quite the struggle filling the hour before he could leave and arrive at a decent time so as to not appear as eager as he felt, but he eventually realised that he had to decide on what outfit to present himself to Bucky in.

After all, this would be the first time Bucky saw him, well, dressed. He agonised over picking a light blue top that showed off his arms or a pair of dark jeans that clung to his thighs. Both together would be over the top. Eventually, he settled on a simple gray shirt and the jeans, figuring that Bucky had seen enough of his upper half to be impressed with it.

Taking a deep breath to tamp down on the energy he knows that he is positively buzzing with, he raps quickly on the front door.

After a short commotion, Bucky opens the door and invites him in, looking just as breathtaking as the first time they met. Steve awkwardly thrusts the shirt that he has unconsciously been scrunching up in his left hand and Bucky takes it smoothly with a grin that has Steve a little weak at the knees before inviting him in. Sucking down a breath, Steve babbles out a quick thanks _(Be cool Rogers!)_ and follows Bucky through the door. 

Bucky’s apartment is just as quaint as the first time he came, and now, his eyes go straight to the three curious raccoon heads poking out at him. He gives them a small little wave as he nervously stands around the middle of the apartment.

“Hey, I’m just going to go get little guy out here and get his bottle prepped. Feel free to go look at the three musketeers over there, but again, do not be fooled: they are devious little rapscallions and cannot be trusted.” 

Shooting the universal gesture for _I’m-watching-you_ at them, Bucky heads over into the bedroom. As advised, Steve totters over to the large raccoon enclosure and has a little stare-off with what appears to be the ringleader.

Their confrontation lasts a few minutes before Bucky reappears, and Steve is incredibly smug to note that the raccoon blinked first. He shuffles back over to Bucky, but not before sticking his tongue out at the infuriatingly unmoved raccoon. It may be trying to act cool, but they both know who the winner is.

Meanwhile, Bucky has started to rouse the sleepy raccoon and is speaking to it in soft, low tones. Steve melts at the sight.

Bucky turns around with the baby cradled gently in one hand, and the tiniest little bottle Steve has ever seen in the other. He looks at Steve sweetly and asks, “How would you like to learn how to feed a baby raccoon?”

In that moment, Steve knows that he’s gone on this man.

  
  


*****

  
  


As Bucky instructs Steve how to properly hold the baby and ensure that it’s suckling right, he almost laughs at the look of intense concentration on Steve’s face. The man’s brow is furrowed as he listens intently, clearly absorbing all the little details, like a soldier receiving a mission.

Bucky hovers around and watches closely to make sure Steve is doing it right, but the other man has obviously taken good mental notes because only a few small corrections are needed. The look of joy that explodes across Steve’s face when the baby successfully latches on is one that Bucky wants to file away in his head forever, but he settles for watching fondly as the feeding goes on. 

A few moments later, the little raccoon has drunk its fill and makes that known by rolling over with a small burp. Bucky swiftly swoops in to collect it and return it to its bed, and tries to hide the shudder that goes through him when their hands connect.

When he shyly invites Steve to come and visit again, he is shocked by his own bravery, but decides to just let himself enjoy the sudden look of surprised delight on Steve’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does not feature HYDRA! That was just a little Easter egg I popped in there, but a tiny little spin-off fix is coming on Thursday :-) Let me know in the comments also if you think one big mean octopus would win against …say eight well-trained raccoons (one for each tentacle?)
> 
> Writing this chapter was so exciting and it was so difficult to wait to publish it! Bucky and Steve are slowly getting closer, and we’re getting a tiny glimpse into Bucky’s struggles with PTSD and how raccoon therapy helps with that. Steve is a bit of a mess as usual, but that’s fine because Bucky will still love him :-)
> 
> As usual, please kudos and comment if you liked it — it brings me immeasurable joy to see people reading this and enjoying it and I may or may not obsessively check after I publish a new fic/chapter. Updates will continue to be every Sunday (my Sunday at least, not sure what time it’ll appear for you all across the world :b) and I seem to be quite ahead of schedule so many chapters are lined up and raring to go. Once this is done, I’ll be starting on the rest of my list of fic ideas (currently 7 things in line and a whole series of ....18 short one-shots) so I will probably be sticking around here for quite a bit!


	3. meet the parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing good ever happens at 3am. Until something does. And getting to dive a little deeper into Bucky's world is most decidedly a very good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for some raccoon fun! 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It was 3am when Steve got the call.

_ Never again _ , he swore as he dragged himself out of bed to stop the godforsaken shrill ring of the phone.  _ I will never call Sam before he wakes up ever again. _

“Hello?” With a sleep-rough voice, he answered the phone, half falling asleep again.

“STEVE! GUESS WHAT! LITTLE GUY OPENED HIS EYES FOR THE FIRST TIME!”

Instantly, he’s awake. Any last vestiges of sleep are wiped from his mind and replaced by complete euphoria.  _ His little baby is growing up! _

While Steve tears up a little, he hears Bucky startle.

“Oh my gosh, I just realised it’s 3am and you’re probably sleeping like a normal person and I just woke you up. I’m so sorry!”

He can feel Bucky’s mortification through the phone and jumps to reassure him. “Hey no, I’m glad you called me! It’s wonderful hearing about little guy and besides, this is probably payback from that time I called and woke you up for a raccoon emergency.”

Bucky laughs and Steve feels a burst of pride for being the cause of that.

“Fair enough. Now, as exciting as this might be, little guy is getting sleepy again and I imagine that you would like to get back in bed as well. Why don’t you come over later today, say 3pm and you can see for yourself!”

Steve grins at the invitation and confirms that he’ll be there. Bucky smiles audibly and chases him off to bed.

Still slightly giddy from that phone call, Steve goes to sleep and dreams about Bucky and little guy.

  
  


*****

  
  


Seeing that pair of inquisitive little eyes is better than he could ever imagine.

They have just finished feeding little guy together and the whole time, Steve’s eyes were fixed on that tiny, perfect face as he drank to his heart’s content. Steve remembers stumbling upon the small body on that run, and remembers how all of it led to now.

This moment, holding a beautiful life in his hands, watching it grow. Standing next to a beautiful man with a big heart and a gorgeous smile. 

Steve hands the formula-drunk baby over to Bucky and watches with love in his eyes as he carries the sleepy creature back to his room, the soothing sound of a drowsy baby raccoon guiding their way.

  
  


*****

  
  


When Bucky returns, he finds Steve looking at the various posters and decorations hung around the room.

“So, I could help but notice a kind of interesting sign hanging on the wall there. ‘Murder Raccoon Club?’ Want to tell me what that’s about?”

Bucky blushes and looks down at his feet. 

“Well, my first raccoon, a little guy called Rocky, viciously murdered my cactus, Mr Porcupine, so he was the first half of the murder raccoon club,” Bucky says fondly and Steve cracks a grin at the mental image. 

“And well, I’m not a raccoon, but I was in the army, and… so together we became the murder raccoon club!” Bucky shrugs self-deprecatingly even as he tries to end on a lighter note, and the shame in his posture ignites something in Steve.

“You’re not a murderer, and you’re not a monster. You’re a good man who may have done some bad things, but you were just trying to serve your country, and you shouldn’t feel ashamed about that.” Steve grips Bucky’s shoulders firmly as he stares resolutely into Bucky’s downturned eyes, willing his message to go through.

Bucky gives a watery smile in return and says in a soft voice, “Thanks Steve, I really needed that.”

The solemnity of the moment is broken by loud chattering coming from the enclosure, the three juvenile raccoons making clear that they did not appreciate being ignored. Neither of them can help the laughter that bursts forth from them naturally. After they settle down, they are both still smiling.

With that timely interruption, Bucky claps his hands and whirls around.

“I think they’re letting us know that it’s time for you to meet the three musketeers!”

He moves confidently to the cage and the three raccoons go crazy with excitement. Steve watches with slight trepidation. He does think that they are adorable and feels a slight sense of honour at being able to meet some of Bucky’s treasured friends, almost like meeting the in-laws even? He shakes the image of an awkward family dinner out of his head. It’s a bit too early to be thinking about that, though he stows the thought away as a daydream for another time.

Still, he’s heard a lot of warnings about the “disease-ridden trash creatures” from Tony (who may or may not have had a tense stand-off with an extended raccoon family behind a Taco Bell at 2am armed with only trash bag and a Gucci scarf) and the slyness of these three raccoons in particular from Bucky. Their little hands are clambering eagerly at the fencing of their little indoor enclosure and he tries not to think of a zombie apocalypse. He hopes he won’t get rabies. Then again, Bucky might be worth getting rabies for.

Bucky turns back with a big grin on his face and an armful of raccoons. A little squabble breaks out with some irritated chirps and a flurry of furry paws, but quickly ends with the one Steve recognises as the ringleader from his previous interactions with them on top. The dominant one puts the other two in order with a bossy screech and Steve tries to steel himself.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” Bucky is full on beaming right now and Steve offers a weak smile in return.

“Yeah, that’s um, one way to describe them. So, how do we go about this meeting? Do I have to let them rub and scent me? Is there any special raccoon ritual I should go through?”

Bucky laughs. “Aw, don’t worry Steve! I’m sure they’ll love you, just don’t make any sudden movements, and let them come to you. They’ll do the rest!”

Gently, he sets them down on the wooden floor and lets them wander around the floor. Steve silently gulps and sinks to the floor as well in what he hopes is a non-threatening pose.

_ Oh god, the beasts are loose. _

The two lackeys hang back, hovering around Bucky while their leader sets out to investigate the strange new intruder.  _ It’s fine, it’s just doing a standard threat assessment, you aren’t about to be eaten, calm down.  _ He has to consciously remind himself to let go of the breath he’s holding and tries to unfreeze his muscles. The raccoon takes three intimidating steps forward, nose quivering as it scents the air. Steve tries to remember what deodorant he put on that morning.

The raccoon has clearly come to some sort of conclusion about him because it makes a few sharp barks to the rest of its gang before suddenly bounding rapidly over to him. It takes everything in him to not leap back with a loud yelp.

_ Oh god, this is probably Bucky’s goddaughter or something and she already hates me. I’ll never gain their approval to date him! _

He is now face to face with the raccoon and he can see every impeccably groomed whisker on its gray cheek. There is something lurking deep in those dark eyes and he can only pray that it is something positive.

_ Be strong, Steve. Remember: they can smell your fear. _

He tries to stare as bravely as he can back at her, hoping that he is at least somewhat successful at masking the increased volume of sweat lining his palms. Now that there is no barrier between them to save him from death by clawing, the staring contest feels far more high-stakes. 

The anxiety makes him blink prematurely, and just like that, the spell is broken. The raccoon makes what can only be described as a satisfied noise before bounding off proudly to report back to its cult, and Steve can  _ swear  _ that there is a slightly mocking wiggle in its butt. He narrows his eyes.

“That’s fantastic Steve! She loves you which means that the other two will probably follow her lead! Now they’re probably just going to go romp around a little bit and play with some of their toys.” Bucky’s smile is radiant and Steve feels some of the weight on his shoulders melt away in that sunshine.

He shakily rises to his feet and tries to shake off the stress from that encounter. He still can’t quite believe that he has survived that confrontation unscathed. 

“Yeah, she’s um lovely as well, I can’t wait to get to know the rest of them… Um, what are their names?”

Bucky turns bashful at this. 

“So my first raccoon rescue was called Rocky, and afterwards, I kind of decided to stick with the theme of alliterative names. I’ve had a Robin Raccoon who really liked climbing trees and being in the air, a Reginald Raccoon because he was real proper and classy that one, a Remy Raccoon named after the mouse from Ratatouille because he loved his food a lot…”

Steve can’t help but break into a smile at this. Bucky is  _ adorable. _

Emboldened by Steve’s positive reaction, Bucky continues on. 

“For this batch, two boys and one girl, we have Rebecca, Richard and Romeo,” Bucky lists off, pointing to each raccoon in turn.  _ Romeo _ appears to be wrestling with a dog toy at the moment. Charming.

“Rebecca is the dominant one, as you can probably tell. She bosses the other two around and they know better than to step out of line with her,” he explains.

Steve quirks a brow at that. “So why ‘Rebecca’ specifically then? And not any other girl’s name?”

Bucky’s blush intensifies. Steve has to fight down the urge to squeal and coo at his cuteness. 

“I have a younger sister called Becca, and she always used to tell me what to do and she was really noisy growing up, a real know-it-all,” he says fondly. “This girl over here is just as noisy, so I decided to name her Rebecca after Becca.”

Steve wants to melt at how sweet that is, but decides to ask about the other raccoons instead. 

“How about Romeo and Richard, was it?”

“Well, Romeo was a real charmer, came out trying to cuddle up to everyone and sprinkle his affection everywhere, so I figured that the name suited such a dashing gentleman. I kind of promised not to tell anyone, so let’s keep this a little secret between us.” Bucky gestures for Steve to come closer with a playful glint in his eye. Steve feels a small jolt of excitement at the prospect of a shared secret between the two of them. “I once caught him trying to make the moves on Rebecca, but she shut him down real fast and now he just tries to woo non-raccoon mammals instead.”

Both of them break out into little giggles at the thought of a pouting raccoon sulking in the corner after being jilted by his independent female roommate. After a short pause, Bucky picks up on the final name.

“Richard was given that name because, well, he can be a little … sometimes.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows suggestively causing Steve to let out another round of laughter. “I’m serious! Even as a tiny baby raccoon with his eyes still closed, he was the most demanding little jerk and would try to hog all the blankets!”

Looking over at  _ Richard _ , Steve can kind of see what Bucky means. He hates to judge a book by its cover, but he silently thinks that Richard might be the type of grumpy New Yorker you try not to walk too close to before he’s had his coffee. He wonders if raccoons can drink coffee.

“Are they all siblings?”

“They’re all from different litters but I got them at the same time because it’s good for orphan raccoons to grow up with other babies so they can learn how to interact with other raccoons. When little guy grows up a bit, I’ll have him join them since they’re only about three weeks or so older than him. When it comes time to release them, I’ll let them all go together so they won’t be alone. You can kind of tell that they aren’t from the same litter because of how different their markings are!”

Steve hasn’t the slightest clue about raccoon reproduction and trait inheritance. They all kind of look the same to him. He nods along anyway. 

The conversation fades to a natural lull afterwards. They watch the three raccoons scamper and tussle around in comfortable silence, occasionally laughing at some of the antics the three get into. Steve is proud to say that he only catches himself watching Bucky instead twice.

He takes in the tender way that Bucky watches the raccoons and asks softly, “You really love them, huh?”

Bucky nods, eyes warm. “Yeah, I was in a pretty dark place for a while and they really saved me. Having them here brings such light into my life, I don’t care what anyone says about them being filthy or pests, they’re my rabies babies!” 

Bucky ends off confidently with such a passionate declaration and Steve is carried along with his enthusiasm. He nods just as fervently and vows that the next time he sees Tony, he’s going to make sure he defends the good name of raccoons everywhere, no matter what it takes.

  
  


*****

  
  


After a while, even the boundless energy of the young raccoons seems to run out and they return to Bucky, panting slightly. In a practiced motion, Bucky sweeps the three of them up and carefully returns them back to their enclosure where they crawl to their individual hiding spots for a much-needed nap.

If not for the break imposed by the tired trio, Steve thinks he might have been happy to stay there forever. As it were, several hours have passed and it’s probably best that he returns home to do some necessary adult things.

Bucky too seems to have sensed the natural conclusion to their very exciting third meeting and turns towards him.

“Well, they certainly seemed to have tuckered themselves out. I’m so glad you joined us today and I hope you had fun!”

“Definitely, today was amazing.” Steve feels his head nodding even before the words come out.

Bucky’s smile widens. “Anytime you want to come back and see the raccoons, feel free to let me know, and we’ll set it up. Have a safe ride home!”

Even as he deflates slightly that this wonderful time has come to an end, Steve perks up at the mention of another visit. He bids Bucky a cheerful farewell and starts the long ride home.

As he drives down the road, he can’t help but visualise a white-picket fence surrounding a garden, Bucky laughing by his side as they watch some young raccoons gallivant in the distance, both of them carrying a small raccoon baby each.

When he walks into his house, he feels lighter than air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....there may or may not be a spin-off fic of a certain genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and his encounters of the raccoon kind.
> 
>   
> A bit of a shorter chapter, but the next part of the plot is one chapter split into 3 because it was sooo long and a bit heavier than the rest of this, but still happy!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed meeting some of Bucky's other raccoons and seeing Steve learn how to interact with others like a normal person. In case you haven't seen it, I have a short little crackish fic set in this universe kind of (well, this universe being anything that is just aggressively raccoon) so if you would like to read about the adventures of special raccoon agents, you should go check it out! Please kudos and comment if you enjoyed! :D


	4. mission materiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve was kicked out of the boy scouts as a child, but let it never be said that he is Not Prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: While this fic is primarily cracky-goodness, it does deal with animal rehabilitation, which doesn't always go well. As such, this story (and these next few chapters in particular) do deal with some kind of heavier things, but it IS still primarily a happy feelgood fic so don't worry about that!

  
  


Steve puts the finishing touches on his latest commission, a portrait of a slightly balding old man with a cheerful smile, a bushy white mustache and a pair of tinted sunglasses.

It’s still early, but given that it’s a Friday afternoon, he figures he can give himself a little break and take an early weekend. After all, tomorrow is certain to be a very exciting day.

As he smiles to himself at the prospect of another visit to Bucky’s raccoon cave, he fondly thinks of the little raccoon that captured his heart once he tripped and fell for it (and saw its rescuer). 

Right on cue, his phone chimes with a notification that he sees is from Bucky, to his delight. Gleefully opening it up, he scans the message eagerly.

_ hey Steve, I’m not sure if you should come anymore tomorrow. little guy isn’t doing too well, don’t think we’ll be much fun to hang around :( _

Steve’s heart is immediately in his chest. Little guy not doing too well? But he had just opened his eyes! 

He calls Bucky.

  
  


*****

“Hello?” The voice is tired with a fatigue that seems more than physical. Steve’s heart aches at the sound.

“Hey Bucky, I got your text, what do you mean little guy isn’t doing well?”

Bucky gives a loud sigh. “Unfortunately, he seems to have contracted a nasty case of pneumonia, which is fairly common in orphaned raccoons, especially since he was found exposed to the elements for quite a bit. I’ve started him on a course of antibiotics, but it’s touch and go at the moment.”

_ Pneumonia. _

Steve’s heart starts to pound at that familiar word. Flashes of IVs injected into pale arms in a stark white room and the feeling of his lungs seizing in his chest pour over him in a wave that threatens to overwhelm him entirely.

His panic must be spilling over through the phone because he hears Bucky speak up, concern colouring his voice.

“Steve? Are you okay? Hey, breathe with me for a moment. In, out, in, out…”

Though his heart is still kicking up a drum beat, he feels his breathing start to take on the calm of Bucky’s tone. With the panic slowly dissipating, he finds it replaced by embarrassment. Did he just freak out over the phone in front of Bucky when it wasn’t even his raccoon that was feeling sick?  _ Bucky’s already going through so much, the last thing he needs is to babysit a giant meatball,  _ he scolds himself furiously. His self-chastisement comes to an end when he hears Bucky’s gentle voice again.

“Back with me now Steve? I know it’s scary, but it isn’t over yet, and we’ll keep trying to fight this. For now, it’s just a lot of monitoring, trying to get fluids in him, keeping up with his medication…” Bucky trails off and Steve can feel the stress and tiredness in his words.

Suddenly, he feels a sharp sense of restlessness. Desperation rushes out of him and he urgently asks, “Is there anything I can do? I hate thinking that you have to go through this alone, it can’t be easy!”

He hears a sharp inhale across the line followed by Bucky’s hesitant response. “That’s, that’s really sweet Steve, but it’s fine, I can handle it.”

Despite Bucky’s words, the fatigue and resignation that almost seems to shroud him leaves something sour in his stomach. Unbidden, images of a blonde woman with kind blue eyes and tired lines framing a worn smile.  _ Don’t you worry at all, darling, we’re both going to be just fine. I just want you to focus on getting better, let me worry about the rest.  _

Back then, he had simply nodded and drifted off to sleep, eager to escape the heaviness in his head and the sharp pain in his chest. He would miss the way his beloved mother’s face would fall as she dragged a calloused hand through thinning pale blond hair, her eyes ageing decades as the hospital bills wracked up. He was too preoccupied with the dull monotony of weeks spent in that dreary patient room to notice her increasingly frequent absences, where she would have to tear herself away from his bedside to go start her second job. He let the aching of his bones blind himself to the toll it was taking on his mother, and once he recovered, he was too caught up in the newfound strength in his body to realise that the years were catching up with her. While he celebrated the disappearance of a childhood of pain, his mother had worked herself into an early grave.

Shaking away those painful memories, Steve feels a firm resolve form in his chest. He was too weak back then to realise what the stress of being the sole caretaker of a sick child could do to someone, but he knows now, and he’ll be damned if he just lets it happen to another person he cares about dearly.

_ Never again. _

“You know what Buck, pull out your couch for me, will you? It’s coming up to 4pm, I’m done with my work for the week, so I’m heading over to help look after little guy and take a load off your shoulders.”

“Wait, Steve, it’s okay! No, really, it’s fine—”

He doesn’t hear the rest of Bucky’s protests before he hangs up the phone. Sheer determination fills his eyes and he strides confidently over to his cupboard. 

His mind is already creating a mental list of the necessary items to bring as he moves to grab his overnight bag almost on auto-pilot.  _ Sickness, Steve, you know how it goes. You’ve beaten pneumonia three times already, and this time will be no different. _

Steeling himself, he surveys his apartment with a clinical eye. 

_ Time to gather supplies. _

  
  


*****

  
  


The call ends with Bucky being slightly bewildered. He hasn’t slept properly for about four days, so he’s not entirely certain if it’s the exhaustion or just Steve, but either way, he figures that he can’t do much about it and elects to just pretend that it didn’t happen and deal with it later.

Giving his head a quick shake to snap himself out of his semi-delusional state, he blinks himself awake. It only works slightly. Sluggishly dragging himself out from his bed where he had been unsuccessfully trying to catch a few winks, he goes to check on the small raccoon.

The poor creature is still sleeping fitfully, eyes clenched in a raccoon approximation of distress that makes Bucky’s heart clench with worry. Even with the grand distraction that Steve posed that morning, he had made sure to diligently carry out all the steps in baby raccoon care. The minute he had gotten little guy all cleaned and warmed up in a fluffy pile of towels next to an electric heater, he had administered the deworming treatment to avoid the possibility of potentially fatal parasites down the line. He had ensured that he didn’t feed the baby too early to make sure that it was warm enough before feeding him to avoid shocking its system with a sudden spike in temperature. 

Those precious days of taking care of him with Steve’s warm presence beside him were instantly put to an end that morning when he woke up and little guy refused to take the bottle. He had tried all of his usual tricks to cajole the infant into suckling, but the lethargic animal had refused to eat. His heart sank immediately. He would have to wait a bit longer to confirm his suspicions, but he knew what this loss of appetite was pointing to. All the signs indicated pneumonia, which could so easily kill one so terribly young.

He had done all the right things, but somehow, he still ended up with a sick baby struggling to stay alive.

Since then, it had been a fog of worry, sleepless nights and constant nervous hovering. Rubbing his dry eyes, he gave a big yawn. He would give his other arm for the chance to just crash for a few uninterrupted hours, but he couldn’t do that. Not when little guy was depending on him.

Chasing away all thoughts of sleep from his drained mind, he began preparing the next dose of antibiotics.

  
  


*****

  
  


He just about starts to doze off in his stiff-backed armchair next to the box when he’s startled away by a loud and frantic series of knocks. 

Slightly dazed, he stumbles over to open the door. He is wholly unprepared for the sight that greets him.

Steve stands in the doorway with one arm braced against the frame, the other holding what looks to be an overstuffed gym bag. The light of the harsh sun against his body illuminates his golden hair and adds to the aura of splendour as the man stands like an avenging angel on Bucky’s doorstep.

He blinks.

Somehow, the scene changes slightly and he starts to take in the strained, somewhat manic look in Steve’s eyes, the slight heaving of his broad chest and the messiness of his typically immaculately groomed hair. In the distance, he can see Steve’s motorcycle seemingly haphazardly thrown to one side.

A beat of stunned silence passes.

Bucky finally manages to pull himself together and squeaks out a surprised “Steve!” The man in question seems to have calmed down slightly since then but his gaze still pierces Bucky with a disconcerting intensity. 

He must have somehow stammered out a comprehensive invitation into his house because the awkward face-off is soon moved into his dimly lit living room. 

After scuffing his foot into the floor for a bit, he finally speaks up to break the silence.

“So, um, what are you doing here?”

  
  


*****

  
  


Steve blinks, and a switch seems to have been flipped. His serious demeanour is shed immediately and his face flushes red as he jumps back, mortified eyes widening.

_ Oh my god, what am I doing! Did I seriously just barge into Bucky’s house with my overnight bag? Oh. My. Gosh. _

“Bucky! I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I was just so worried when I heard about little guy and then I thought about you being all alone, having to take care of him and it reminded me of my—”

Right before he accidentally starts himself on a spiel about his tragic childhood trauma, he snaps his mouth shut. He takes a deep breath, gathers his bearings and starts talking at a rapid pace again.

“I can’t believe I just came here so presumptuously without an invitation, but I just wanted to try and help—” 

The mention of his self-appointed quest reminds him of why he came in the first place and he feels his face harden. 

“—and I can just imagine that you haven’t slept much at all these past few days and I really didn’t want to have you—”

“STEVE! Okay buddy, let’s take those deep breaths again, I don’t need another lug on oxygen in my house—”

“HE’S ON OXYGEN?”

“Yes, it’s just while his lungs recover—”

“His lungs are hurt? Oh no, did someone hurt him? Was it something in the formula? All those pharmaceutical companies, always putting chemicals everywhere, you can bet that I’m going to—”

“Steve, Steve, Steve, hey…” Bucky’s voice is gentle and he looks at Steve with a sad smile. At the tender look on Bucky’s face, Steve’s tirade grinds to a halt.

“Sometimes, sometimes these things just happen. It’s tough for a baby raccoon, especially one as young as this one, to survive without its mother.”

Steve deflates and feels himself shrinking. He hates how small his voice is when it comes out and to his horror, he can feel hot tears welling in his eyes.

“So what do we do then?”

This is the most helpless he’s felt since he was a young asthmatic boy with a faulty heart and overstretched lungs, forced to stay in a bland hospital bed while doctors told his mother that he likely wouldn’t make it to his next birthday, their voices dripping with pity.  _ “We’re very sorry Mrs Rogers, but there’s nothing we can do. Steve’s heart is just too weak to keep going.” _

Even when he was a frail young boy in a too-big hospital bed, he could at least focus on fighting the disease trying to ravage his body. In the schoolyard, even as a scrawny asthmatic, any bullies that tried to harass him would be met by the full force of an enraged Steve Rogers. But now, when there’s no big evil out there to stand up against, nothing but the fickle cruelty of nature tormenting a fragile little creature, nothing that he can fight, he feels so lost.

Bucky reaches a comforting hand out to his shoulder and Steve revels in the warmth radiating out from it, using it to ground himself. Teary blue eyes meet determined stormy ones. 

“We’re not giving up. As long as little guy keeps fighting, we’re going to keep helping him along, and if that means that we have to wake up every hour to check on him, so be it. It’s not over yet, and there’s still some spirit left in him yet.”

He can see the matching redness around Bucky’s eyes, but his voice is firm and reassuring. 

He offers a watery smile in return, and they both turn to look at the tiny creature fighting for its life in the little incubator.

  
  


*****

  
  


After the excitement of the past few minutes, things seem to have calmed down and they find themselves sitting closely together on Bucky’s lumpy secondhand couch that is decidedly not big enough for two grown men. Somehow, even the terrible trio in the corner seem oddly subdued, as though they realise that their little brother isn’t doing too well. 

Sipping passively on a cup of lukewarm supermarket tea, Bucky sends a curious glance towards the large duffle bag resting on the ground.

“Hey, what’s in the bag, by the way?”

At the question, Steve’s face drains of all colour. In the immediate aftermath of that phone call, his mind had tunneled in on a single word:  _ pneumonia _ .

After so many brushes with the illness himself, he had developed a little routine of homecare to get him through the rough patches. And so, the bag was filled with all the useful supplies he had accumulated through the years that were just what was needed to get over a nasty bout of respiratory infections. Except for one thing.

It wasn’t him who had pneumonia, it was a  _ raccoon. _

Steve wasn’t all too well-versed in raccoon biology, but even he knew (now that he was in his right mind) that raccoons probably did not use antiseptic handwash and calamine lotion.

_ Oh my gosh, Bucky is going to think I’m even bigger of an idiot than he probably already does. _

He lets out a high-pitched laugh and waves a hand dismissively while subtly trying to nudge the bag away (out of the house preferably).

_ Play it cool, play it cool.  _

“Oh, this is just a random little bag I grabbed with some stuff that I thought might be useful, but it seems like you’re well stocked here, definitely nothing here that you don’t already have, so there’s no need to bother opening it!” 

From the way that Bucky is already standing up and moving towards the bag with a strange glint in his eye, his attempt at diversion has not worked.

“No, no, I’m sure some of it will be useful. Let’s take a look!” Bucky’s voice has that sweet tone that makes Steve unable to deny him anything, leaving him standing helplessly by the side while Bucky begins to open the zipper and pull out his supplies, naming them as he goes.

“Okay, so we have an oral thermometer, which might be a little tough to use on an infant raccoon, but the thought was there. Next, we have a bottle of Pedialyte, and a flask of ...chicken noodle soup?”

In response to Bucky’s quizzical look, Steve offers weakly, “It’s good for your immune system?”

“That’s um, really thoughtful Steve. Thanks a lot for that!” Bucky shoots a quick smile back at him before continuing to unpack the back.

_ A mini bottle of laundry detergent. _

_ Five packs of extra strength panadol. _

_ Three rolls of toilet paper. _

_ A bottle of cough syrup. _

_ A box of surgical masks and two surgical gowns. _

_ A sudoku puzzle book and the complete DVD set of the Ice Age movie franchise. _

With every successive item brought out in a continuation of this infinite parade of humiliation, Steve feels his face get progressively redder. He begs for the earth to swallow him and feels the world around him descend into oblivion.

  
  


*****

  
  


When Bucky pulls out the anti-diarrheal tablets, he gives up any facade of being a supportive friend and lets the full force of his amusement loose with a loud cackle. Tears pour out of his eyes as he visualises a stern Steven attempting to instruct a tiny raccoon to properly apply insect repellent. He almost manages to curb his laughter, but one look at Steve’s fire-engine face has him rolling all over again.

Just an hour ago, he had been sapped of all energy and felt all wrung out, like an old dish cloth. He hated to admit it, but having to care for three excitable juvenile raccoons on top of a direly ill baby who needed round the clock care was beginning to overwhelm him. Although the raccoons in his life had certainly helped to bring him back to life, the nightmares didn’t disappear altogether, and he had already been running on fumes before pneumonia hit.

He had been at his wits’ end, exhausted beyond belief and ready to throw in the towel when that knock on the door sounded. 

He had told Steve to stay away, too ashamed of how he had let little guy wither away under his care to face those earnest blue eyes, and resigned himself to a week of utter misery likely ending with a dead infant on his hands. Instead, he was granted a kindness that he didn’t know he needed, that he didn’t think he deserved.

In that moment, looking up at Steve’s look of embarrassment that has long become a trademark in their relationship, he smiles. With Steve’s help, he thinks that they just might pull through this together.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...was that a CAMEO I saw at the start? maybe.
> 
> small sick animals make my heart hurt but luckily, Steve is to the rescue! Even if he isn't always the best at it. (Fun fact: originally this plot point was meant to be one chapter, but it went on and on so we have three chapters in this mini-arc -- a tiny story bump? which is quite exciting)
> 
> I haven't been in the best of moods lately which makes it a bit hard to write comedic crack, but I do have a few chapters prepped ahead so there shouldn't be too much of a problem. Although I have been writing all sorts of angsty stuff instead *squints* One such story coming out on Wednesday and the murder raccoon club will still see an update next week!
> 
> Hope you're enjoying this fic so far and let me know what you think in the comments! I always reply even though it might take be some time and I love having little convos down there :D


	5. the endless night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some espionage, hurt and comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings in end notes!

Standing in front of Bucky’s old, worn couch, Steve thinks that he might just regret his inability to forward think for the first time in his life. 

After the whole mishap of  _ the duffle bag _ , the two of them had had a wonderful evening together, eating heated up chicken noodle soup and chatting the night away. The entire setting had a soothingly domestic atmosphere that Steve revelled in.

But now that it was nearing midnight, the issue of where Steve was going to sleep came up, which led to where they were now, staring at the sad excuse for a bed located in Bucky’s living room.

He prods a suspiciously lumpy pillow that is simultaneously mushy? but also firm as a rock in some places. Bucky is glancing at him with an anxious look on his face.

“I know it’s not great, but it came with the place when I first got it and I didn’t think that I would have anyone over for the night so I didn’t bother to buy another one —”

Eyes softening as Bucky begins to ramble nervously, Steve pats the pillow awkwardly and tries to hide his wince when it makes a foamy little ‘squelch’ noise. “No, no it’s perfectly fine! I’m the one who came over unannounced, and besides, it’s just a few hours. I’m sure your couch and I will have a swell time together!”

_ A swell time together? With his couch? What are you even saying Steve? _

He immediately wants to cringe at the words that just came out of his mouth, but they make Bucky’s face light up and the happy laugh that comes out is worth any embarrassment. 

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted then. I’ll take the first shift so you can catch some sleep now, then at, say 3am, you can come in to check on him while I crash for the night? Then it’s just looking in on him to make sure he’s breathing properly and so on every hour.”

As he speaks, Bucky slowly starts setting down the stack of blankets he scrounged up from his room for Steve, who nods soberly at the instructions. He watches Bucky cutely try to arrange them into a cozy little nest and doesn’t fight the goofy smile that comes onto his face.

Once the couch set-up is to Bucky’s liking, he takes his leave, plodding off to his room in socked feet. Right before turning into the room, he looks up shyly and says earnestly before ducking into the room, “Hey Stevie? Thanks again for all of this, little guy and I really appreciate your help!”

Now that Bucky is hidden from sight, Steve doesn’t even bother to hide the silly dance he does to match the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. After completing his routine, he lets out a breath and turns towards the couch.

Somehow, the random indentations and few stains have come together to form a judgemental face. Steve scowls at the cushions, pointing an accusing finger at the furniture. “You got something to say pal? Well, can it! I don’t have to take this attitude from you!”

With a satisfied flourish, he switches off the lights and plops down on the couch. Instantly, he feels a spring poke into his back. Sighing heavily, he stuffs a blanket under him and tries to drift off to sleep. It’s going to be a long night.

  
  


*****

It’s 2.30am and Steve has not yet fallen asleep.    
  


Everytime he gets close to drifting off, he inadvertently shifts slightly and shoots awake when he somehow manages to get another lumpy spot in his shoulder or sink down into an oddly hollow area. Not to mention the way his feet hang freely off the arm of the sofa while his neck is squished into an awkward crook at the other end. For such a small couch, there sure is a lot wrong with it.

(At one point, his hand had slipped in between two of the cushions and contacted what seemed to be a slightly damp rock collection. He quickly retracted it and pretended that he never uncovered that secret world. He just hopes that they are rocks and not sentient alien creatures coming to steal his soul for trespassing on their territory.)

Still, he has more than an hour before he has to go check in on little guy, so he hunkers down and tries to sleep.

  
  


*****

  
  


Even with the concrete slate against his back, he has somehow managed to fall into something approximating sleep and is having a lovely dream about Bucky, himself and some whipped cream when his alarm rings.

Cursing at the disruption to his precious fantasy, he groggily gets up and walks down the hallway to Bucky’s room. He feels his neck give a worrying crack and winces.  _ Yup, definitely gonna wake up with a crick tomorrow.  _ Yawning widely, he opens the door.

The minute he steps into the door, Bucky bolts awake and stares straight at him, startling both of them equally. Steve, still mid-yawn, looks back with wide eyes.

When Bucky recognises the familiar figure, he visibly relaxes. “Oh, it’s just you Steve.”

Steve feels a storm of guilt churning in him. He hadn’t expected Bucky to be such a light sleeper and was too careless with entering his room. “Yeah, sorry about waking you up, I’ll try to be quieter next time.”

With that settled, Bucky tentatively lays back down and Steve heads quickly to peek at little guy. Now that he’s been on oxygen for quite a while, the tiny raccoon appears to be doing better and is no longer wheezing painfully for his next breath. Satisfied, Steve quietly retreats back to the couch and tries to return to his dream.

  
  


*****

  
  


Although he isn’t surprised when the 5am alarm goes off, he isn’t exactly pleased to be woken up again. Still, he understands the importance of making sure that little guy is still doing alright because he knows firsthand how quickly someone can deteriorate even though they were doing just fine an hour ago.

Now that he knows how sensitive Bucky is to noise, he is extra cautious in making sure that his movements are quiet. In his attempt to minimise the sound that he makes, he exaggerates his actions to try and control them better. Unfortunately, extending his already large frame and not knocking it against the door means that he has to open up a significant gap to fit through the frame, which shines a bright ray of light from the hallway right onto Bucky’s face.

As expected, the sudden spotlight immediately causes Bucky’s face to scrunch up in discomfort, and the man himself to shoot up in alarm a moment later. So much for not waking him up.

Steve quickly rushes out a blubbered apology which Bucky waves off, seemingly unperturbed, but Steve can still see how it takes him much longer to uncoil his frame and for the tension to ease from his body.

The shame that fills him only reduces slightly when he catches a glimpse of little guy snuggled cutely into a soft towel, so he makes a speedy exit afterwards and resolves to do better next time.

  
  


*****

  
  


When 6am rolls around, it’s time to check on little guy again and his alarm goes off. Groaning quietly, he rolls out from the horror trap couch and pads towards Bucky’s room. 

After the first two scares, he tries his best to enter stealthily. Slowly opening the door, he winces at the slight creaking noise that sounds deafening in the silence of the early morning. Nonetheless, Bucky doesn’t stir and Steve heaves a sigh of relief.

Still, the mission is not over.

Making sure that the light from the hallway doesn’t reach the sleeping figure on the bed, he slips into the room and slowly starts to sneak as silently as he can across the floor. Despite his best efforts, Bucky’s ahem  _ vintage _ floor seems determined to announce his presence by releasing little groans with every step. His eyebrow twitches. He’s not  _ that  _ heavy.

After a particularly loud squeak that somehow miraculously does not have Bucky shooting up, he curses under his breath and pauses his journey to regroup and review his strategy. He still has around half the room to pass, and his attempts at infiltration have clearly been unsuccessful so far.

Muttering angrily under his breath, he thinks about the tired air Bucky carries around him and sucks it up. He drops to his belly and begins to army crawl, baby raccoon style. This method is slow and certainly humiliating, but in the dark of the room, there is no one to see him wiggle across the floor. 

His perseverance pays off. As the wooden table leg comes into focus, he can almost taste the victory in the air. The end of the marathon is approaching, so close he can almost grasp it. Finally, he reaches a sufficiently proximate point to carry out the rest of his task and slowly begins to push himself up on his arms with no small amount of pride. 

Unfortunately, it seems like his pride was premature because the stress of the entire situation has somehow produced so much sweat on his palms that he slips and slams his body onto the floor with a solid thump. Nothing short of an act of God could have stopped Bucky from hearing that colossal thump so Steve just closes his eyes and lies on the floor to ruminate in his failure.

Sure enough, the disturbance causes Bucky’s eyes to snap open. Waking Bucky up when he was supposed to be helping him get a good night’s sleep is bad enough, but the shock of the sudden wake-up-call seems to have triggered something of the soldier in him, because he reaches instinctively for the nearest launchable missile and throws it at Steve’s prone frame with deadly accuracy. To compound the injustice in the world, Steve on the other hand does not possess the same hair-trigger instincts, leaving him time only to turn his face towards the approaching projectile and receive it not-so-gracefully right in the face with a loud yelp.

The only blessing in the entire exchange is that the weapon in question was a pillow, and even with the immense amount of force behind it, it only succeeds at forcing Steve back to the floor where he lays splayed out, much like a dazed starfish. 

It takes them both a while to react afterwards — Steve needing to catch his breath after being winded twice within a short amount of time, and Bucky having to come down from his state of heightened consciousness. 

The fact that he is still sprawled on Bucky’s floor takes a moment to sink in before he’s sheepishly scrambling up, trying to make himself look like he was not just slithering across the floor before being taken out by a pillow. Bucky looks like he’s still not fully awake, but manages a “Steve, are you okay?” anyway.

“Y-yeah, just, coming in to check on little guy again! Nothing to see here, why don’t you go back to sleep?”

“I’m really sorry about the pillow, I hit you in the face pretty hard, I hope it doesn’t hurt too much!” 

Steve rushes to reassure him, hating the guilt and worry that take over Bucky’s face. “Not at all, just a little shock, I’m perfectly fine! Now, you’ve had a long night, so go back to bed!”

Bucky looks slightly dubious still, but lies back down on his bed. Steve hurries over to the oxygen chamber and peeks in to see a peacefully slumbering animal before sneaking back out and returning to the couch. He can’t wait for this night to be over. 

  
  


*****

  
  


This time round, Steve is prepared for the alarm. He is determined to let Bucky sleep for at least two consecutive hours; otherwise, his presence was pretty much useless since Bucky’s sleep would have been interrupted hourly anyway.

He hadn’t spent the past hour sleeping in anticipation of the next chance to prove himself. Instead, he had strategised, trying to figure out the best technique to enter Bucky’s room successfully without alerting the man. After a few minutes spent trying out all the socks he had brought with him, he had already identified the pair that was most suited for a stealth operation. 

They were a red pair with a fox design on them, gifted as part of a set from Sam when he moved to his new house. Nothing said successful adulting quite like receiving animal socks as a housewarming present. Steve stared down at the printed cartoon faces of the foxes on both socks and took a deep breath. The fox was a sly and devious creature, able to slip in and out of places unnoticed. It would be his inspiration. He would embody the same cunning of the fox and carry out his task in absolute silence. Looking determinedly at the floor once again, he started chanting his mantra to himself quietly. 

_ You are as swift as the fox. You can do this Steve. Be the fox. _

With one final note of encouragement, he strides confidently towards Bucky’s room. 

In the end, he doesn’t have the chance to try out any of his tactics. The minute he opens the door, he’s tackled by a powerful force and forced into a chokehold in the blink of an eye. Said eyes are currently bulging out, stunned, as he tries to come to terms with what has become of his plan. Even with all the contingencies he had made, this particular scenario had never come to mind.

A few beats pass, where Steve tries to figure out whether he could somehow wiggle his way out to freedom. Ultimately, he doesn’t have to find out the answer to that question because Bucky releases him before he needs to test his theory out.

Rubbing his throat in relief, he turns to face Bucky. The man he sees looks very different from the snarky, caring person he’s come to know. There’s a slightly wild, crazed look in his eyes, hidden behind a sheen of cold detachment. Steve knows that Bucky used to be in the army, but this is the first time he’s seeing the soldier.

Being friends with Sam has given him some knowledge of what a PTSD flashback looks like in a haunted soldier, but he hadn’t quite connected Bucky’s skittishness and what he now recognises to be hypervigilance to his past. Now that he’s more aware of the delicate nature of the situation, he knows he needs to tread carefully.

Raising his hands in a non-threatening manner, he pitches his voice at a soothing tone. “Hey there Buck, I’m really sorry for surprising you, but I just want to let you know that you’re safe now. It’s currently 7am on Saturday morning, we’re in your bedroom, and little guy is right over there. There’s no threat here, so you can take it easy and everything is going to be alright.”

He croons these calming platitudes to Bucky in a low voice as he sees some awareness start to bleed back into those lovely winter-blue eyes.

When Bucky finally blinks and sees what he’s done through his own eyes, the look of sheer horror that fills his face makes Steve want to wrap him up in a warm blanket and never let anything hurt him ever again.

“Steve! I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me, you were just trying to help, I’m so sorry—”

Steve rushes to comfort him. “Hey, none of that. I just caught you off guard, and you stopped before you hurt me.”

Despite his best attempts, Bucky is still visibly distraught. Now that he’s no longer holding that empty expression, devoid of all emotion, tears are leaking profusely from his eyes and his entire body is shaking. 

Steve tries again to calm him down, but Bucky just points a tearful finger at the door and shouts, “ _ Just go Steve! _ ”

All Steve can do is do as he says and leave.

  
  


*****

  
The rest of the morning is tense. When Steve emerges from the bathroom after attempting in vain to wash off the dark circles staining the skin under his eyes, he sees an equally tired Bucky sitting at the kitchen table, robotically sipping a cup of steaming coffee, gripping on to the mug like it contains life’s elixir.

Once the mouthwatering aroma of cheap coffee hits him, he starts to think that maybe it does.

Fortunately, Bucky, in all his merciful goodness, nudges another cup in his direction with a noise approximating a grunt of acknowledgement. Not deterred, Steve grabs the offering and greedily gulps it down, uncaring about the way it scalds the top of his mouth.

For a few minutes, the room is silent filled only with the sounds of slurping coffee.

When he finally finds himself sufficiently awake, he tries to find a conversation point to break the awkward silence. 

“So, did you sleep well?”

Bucky glares at him from the side of his eye and grumpily takes another sip of coffee. Well, that’s understandable. 

He tries again. “Any plans for today?”

Bucky’s prickly morning exterior softens. He hums thoughtfully, staring contemplatively into his coffee.

“Not many, no. In a few minutes, the little ruffians are going to wake up so enjoy the peace while it lasts. I have to go get them settled for the day then we can have a lazy day with them, but other than that…”

Bucky trails off and Steve nods awkwardly. Later when Bucky heads off to feed Rebecca, Romeo and Richard, Steve busies himself with drinking his coffee.

They don’t talk much after that.

  
  


*****

  
  


Standing in the middle of Bucky’s living room, Steve stares awkwardly at his socked feet, trying not to be so obviously awkward. He hears a derisive snort come from a familiar corner of the room and shoots a sharp glare at the culprit. Despite the sass, the raccoons are uncharacteristically quiet today as well, moping around their enclosure. He wonders if they can sense moods as well, or if the racket he had caused last night had also kept them up. 

If that was the case, it seems like yesterday had been a nightmare for everyone. Thinking back to the acrid look of self-hatred in Bucky’s eyes as he shouted at Steve to leave, he feels a pool of sorrow well up in his chest as he mourns for the easy conversation and relaxed tone of their previous interactions. 

Bucky was in the kitchen preparing the raccoons’ meals for the day, and had offered for Steve to join him, but the stunted way in which he had asked the question, eyes not quite meeting Steve’s, had prompted him to hastily decline. Instead, he had offered to watch little guy for a bit in his crate in front of him on the floor. 

This was probably the first time he can remember not immediately jumping at the chance to spend more time with Bucky like an overeager puppy, but even he can tell when he is not welcome. It makes him ache to just walk up to Bucky and shake him, to let him know that Steve would never think any less of him for the demons that he has to fight. Still, the incident from yesterday is too fresh in their minds, and he probably just needs to give Bucky some time to process it.

Sighing heavily, he turns his gaze down to the box below. As much as he loves being able to be part of the rehabilitation of this baby raccoon that he stumbled upon, he has to admit that it is a fairly uneventful duty. All little guy seems to do is to sleep, blink sleepily every now and then, and if he’s feeling particularly frisky that day, maybe make a few snuffly sounds. He doesn’t regret offering to help Bucky out for the weekend, but it is somewhat uncomfortable at the moment. He just wishes  _ something  _ would happen.

A minute later, he takes it back. Because the thing that happened is little guy suddenly waking up violently, choking on nothing, violent tremors wracking that small body. Steve freezes. It seems like an eternity of watching that frail creature  _ dying _ in front of him before he manages to pull himself together and shout in a voice stricken with panic.

_ “BUCKY!” _

Immediately, Bucky comes barrelling out of the kitchen, forearms still wet from whatever washing up he was doing and eyes wide. Steve can see the fear running through his frame, but Bucky still somehow strides forward to observe the situation with assessing eyes, before darting towards his bedroom to retrieve something. Meanwhile, Steve just stands there, paralysed.

This is probably how his mother felt, he thinks distantly. Helpless in the face of her only son dying because his body was shutting down on itself, not knowing what was going on but knowing enough to understand that she could be witnessing his last few moments right before her eyes, right now. And just as his beloved mother could only stand to the side while she put her son’s fate in the hands of doctors she could only believe were doing everything they could to save him, all Steve can do is watch mutely as Bucky rushes back past him like a force of nature with a tube, a syringe and some sort of contraption that Steve couldn’t place.

Strong hands quickly go to move little guy into recovery position, trying to clear the fluid that is drowning him from his mouth, before intubating him with a tube that seems far too big for such a small animal. The sight of Bucky’s professional movements eases Steve’s worry slightly, but the faint tremor that runs through them leaves Steve waiting anxiously by the side with bated breath.

He isn’t entirely sure what’s going on anymore, and he feels himself descending into a ghoulish swirl of darkness and screams. Clasping his sweaty palms together, he whispers a tiny prayer for the little life in front of him.

  
  


*****

  
  


He doesn’t know how it happened, but Bucky managed to save little guy’s life.

It is only when the tiny raccoon is finally sleeping peacefully in his incubator again, the sounds of his laboured breaths subsiding into quiet, but regular inhales, that Steve feels like he can breathe again.

Still shaking slightly from the residual fear or adrenaline or both, he sinks down onto that ratty old couch and drinks in the sight of Bucky crouched down in front of the incubator, a fiercely protective guardian. Compared to the frenzy of the episode before, things almost seem uncomfortably calm.

It takes a while for him to be able to hear anything other than the sound of his own panic thudding in his temples, but then he catches the faint hints of a soft melody in the air. The words are indecipherable, but the tune is light, with a shade of melancholy, and the song stirs something in him. The feeling of his mother’s soft hand on his forehead after waking to a day he wasn’t sure he would see again, the brief respite when the world seems as though it has come crashing down around him, the calm after the seemingly endless song.

The voice is sweet, but choked with emotion, and it takes another few beats for Steve to realise that it is Bucky singing. Not a lullaby that he is familiar with, no, but he can recognise the same tender quality in Bucky’s gaze as in his mother’s eyes when Gaelic words, spun of magic, fell from her lips in a gentle lilt.

There is a near reverence in the pureness of this moment, and all Steve can do is stare transfixed, enchanted, at the sight before him. 

Yet, all songs come to an end, and the music slowly dies out, the last haunting note hanging in the air, a watchful guardian over this scene. It is Bucky who makes the first move, turning towards Steve with red eyes and tired shoulders carrying more of the world’s sorrow than they can bear. All he wants in that moment is to wrap Bucky up in a tight hug, whisper sweet lines to him and tell him that everything will be alright, but all that comes out is silence.

What do you say after having witnessed such a private, intimate and precious encounter? What goodness can you believe in when even the most innocent of creatures has to struggle to find its next breath?

Bucky must pick up on his lack of words because he breaks the silence with a raspy voice.

“Tomorrow will be kinder.”

Bucky’s voice startles Steve out of his slight reverie. He looks up to see Bucky smiling a tired smile that somehow manages to convey so much. 

“That was the song my mother always used to sing to us growing up. Even on the darkest nights, when everything seemed to be going wrong, she would wrap us in her arms and hold us tight, like we were five years old again, and for a while, everything was perfect. Once I came back from Afghanistan, even as a hardened 23 year old who had spent the last three years killing men in the desert, hearing those words somehow kept me going through the night. After coming back from the war, there are days where you just wake up screaming, and you can’t stop screaming, but thinking about the new day coming to put all the shadows of the past behind you, that chases the darkness away from me long enough to keep trying. I know they don’t understand the words, but I still imagine that they can feel the message, that knowing that there still is hope and that things will get better. Or at the very least, it gives me the strength to carry on.”

And Steve can see that strength, clear as day in the confident way Bucky had moved to get the tube to help little guy breathe again, despite his shaking hands, and how even as unsure and broken down as he is now, he still tries and does his best to save lives, small as they may be.

It is a humbling experience to be able to call this man a friend, but one that is also an honour he still can’t quite believe that he has. In the short time he’s spent here in Bucky’s private space, he’s seen so many facets to the man, and all of them make him fall just a little deeper in love.

There is nothing that he could say that wouldn’t cheapen the rawness of the moment, so he just looks Bucky firmly in the eye and nods, hoping that the other man can sense all the respect, care and support he is channeling.

From the way that Bucky’s face softens and his eyes shine just a bit brighter, he thinks the answer might be yes. It has been a rough day, but he looks around at thai precious little family he’s come to know, and he feels the faint stirrings of hope in his chest.

_ Yes, tomorrow will be kinder. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: depiction of a PTSD-episode and the aftermath of that
> 
> The song in question is 'Tomorrow will be kinder' by The Secret Sisters, which I absolutely adore and has brought me through some tough times too. Bit of a tough chapter today which I hope captures some of the realities of living with PTSD and trying to raise a sick animal, but there is a little levity in there as well since ...Steve is in this chapter. Slight spoiler, it does get better from here so do not worry your little heads everyone!
> 
> As usual, I adore kudos + comments and 80% of my social interaction nowadays comes from the comment section so please come and hang out with me there!


	6. bedtime musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has problems. So few beds, so many thoughts.

  
  
  
  


Come night time, they both shuffle around awkwardly.

After feeling the aches in his back earlier that morning, he knows he can’t stand another night on that couch. And even though they’ve come to an understanding about Bucky’s night terrors, Steve would still very much prefer to  _ not  _ have to set them off again. 

At the same time, it’s not like Bucky has another bed just laying around, waiting for him to use (At least not human beds — the number of raccoon amenities Bucky has in his house is truly remarkable).

“Um, so I don’t want to complain but—”

“Steve, about the sleeping situation tonight—”

Steve opens his mouth to speak at the very same moment Bucky does. They both chuckle nervously and Steve gestures for Bucky to go first. He licks his lips anxiously before speaking. 

“I was just going to say that I think we need to talk about what we’re going to do for tonight. I don’t particularly want a repeat of last night—” Bucky glares at him when he opens his mouth to interject and adds, “—even though I know that it wasn’t my fault, because coming to with my hand wrapped around your throat wasn’t exactly pleasant either. But I don’t have another couch or anything, so…”

He trails off, and Steve picks up hesitantly.

“Yeah, me entering your room every time I needed to check on little guy wasn’t quite working out, and the couch wasn’t exactly great to sleep on either…”

Bucky’s face freezes at that and he lets out a long moan, throwing his head back. His face takes on a charming shade of red as he looks back at Steve.

“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot about Romeo’s rock collection, that must have been a nightmare for your back!”

Steve heaves a sigh of relief that he tries to disguise as a nonchalant shrug. By the way Bucky quirks his eyebrow questioningly at him, he was not very successful.

“Oh yeah, it was a little uncomfortable,” he says breezily, expertly dodging the potentially embarrassing question. It wouldn’t do to have his future husband be made aware of his opinions about the likelihood of sentient alien life this early into their relationship.

Bucky must be getting used to Steve’s eccentricities and difficulties having normal conversations because he lets the issue slide and continues on.

“I don’t want to be too forward or anything, but my bed’s kind of big and since little guy’s oxygen chamber is in my room, I was wondering if you would want to ...share the bed with me for tonight? It’s definitely more comfortable than the couch and this way, I won’t attack you since you’ll already be in my space!”

He rushes out the last part and ducks his head down shyly. Bucky’s blush is adorable and it’s all Steve can do to not squeal like a prepubescent girl at a One Direction concert. 

Only then does he process Bucky’s suggestion and his mind blanks out for a moment. Bucky takes his silence as hesitation and rushes to add, “Only if you feel comfortable with it! If not, forget I said anything and we’ll figure something else out!”

Once Steve’s brain starts working again, he squeaks out, “No, that’s definitely fine with me!”  _ Oh my gosh, future husband wants to sleep with us already!  _

Bucky’s answering grin is full of relief and his smile is like sunshine. Steve swallows nervously and tries to prepare himself for the night ahead.

  
  


*****

  
  


He knew it was probably going to be awkward, since it’s a bit hard to not notice the new intrusion of a 6”2 brick wall into your bed, but he hadn’t imagined it would be  _ this  _ awkward.

Bucky’s bed is noticeably softer than the slab of concrete masquerading as a couch outside, and on any other occasion, Steve would probably have let himself sink into it with a contented sigh. As it were, he is now the one pretending to be tarmac, because he can’t get himself to relax enough to be anything other than stiff as a board. 

His hand accidentally comes into contact with Bucky’s under the covers, and he steals it back so quickly that he knows he has to try to mask his complete inability to be a normal person. He tries to smoothly lead the action into a stretch, but the motion is so clearly forced that even he cringes. The only blessing is that his blush cannot be seen in the darkness. 

He’s not sure how Bucky can stand it, but it may quite possibly be the case that not having a raging crush on the man sleeping next to you in bed helps you not freak out. At least there are no evil teenage raccoons to scent his embarrassingly strong pining and expose him to the world. It’s just him, little guy and Bucky in this room for the night.

_ WAIT. Oh my gosh, what if after spending so much time with the raccoons, Bucky is part-raccoon now? What if he always was part-raccoon, which is why they like him so much?  _ With a slight hysterical laugh that he tries to keep as quiet as possible, Steve turns the possibility over in this head.

_ Would it make me love him any less?  _ He thinks for a moment before dismissing it immediately.  _ Nah, of course not, Bucky will always be perfect no matter how much raccoon is in his blood. It just means that we might have slightly different family gatherings, but I seem to get on fine with the fully-raccoon Rebecca, so Bucky’s possibly half-raccoon sister Becca would probably like me as well!  _

At this thought, he cheers up significantly.  _ Besides, we’re both guys, so it’s not like we’d be having any biological children which would make the raccoon DNA a problem anyway. ...Unless, male raccoons can also— _

“Everything alright over there Steve?”

Bucky’s sleep-hoarse voice interrupts his growing spiral of self-induced panic. Steve gives a sharp laugh that is distinctly more high-pitched than he was aiming for.  _ Be cool Steve! _

“O-oh, I’m fine, just have a lot on my mind, haha!”  _ Like the possibility of quarter-raccoon babies in our future. KEEP IT TOGETHER STEVE.  _ “Nothing to worry about! In fact, we have a big day tomorrow, so I’m just going to go to sleep right now!”

Making a big show of adjusting his pillow, Steve gives a dramatic yawn before sinking back down into the bed.  _ Just swallow me now please. _

He can feel Bucky’s scepticism in the darkness, but soon enough, he hears Bucky’s breathing even out. Letting out a breath of his own, he closes his eyes.

_ It’s going to be another long night. _

  
  


*****

Somehow, despite some dreams of little blonde babies with grey-furred tails running around a terrace house built into a tree, he sleeps relatively well. It seems that barr having to sleep on literal cement, he falls asleep fairly easily. 

Not to say that he doesn’t wake up, but each time, it is for short intervals only before he falls back into a deep slumber.

It is only nearing the start of his shift, when he hears a plaintive cry in the darkness, that he is properly roused. Slowly moving to poke a sluggish finger at Bucky, Steve tries to mumble something about it being Bucky’s turn to get the kid. 

Except, without prompting, Steve feels Bucky automatically get up and walk over.  _ I might just have to thank him with an extra special wake-up call tomorrow,  _ he thinks drowsily for a minute, a dopey smile spreading across his face.  _ Bucky is such a good father. _

It is only as he gradually rises to consciousness that the domestic fantasy he dreamt up dissolves and sadness sets in instead. The image of him and Bucky, curled together in their bed, connected by a strong relationship of love, is not reality. He is not Bucky’s husband, and little guy is just a raccoon that he found on the side of their road.

There is no him and Bucky. For a moment, he wants to cry. In that fleeting instance between sleep and wakefulness, it had almost seemed that they had built a life together. Now that he knows that it was all something he had imagined, the loss hits him hard.

Before he can begin to grieve over the fading vision, he hears movement near little guy’s crate that makes him fall silent.

“You’re going to live, okay?” He hears Bucky whisper fiercely. Then, in a softer, more broken tone, “I can’t have anyone else I care about die in front of me.”

Staring blankly up at the dark ceiling, Steve blinks back wetness from his eyes and tries to ignore the clumping of his dewy lashes. Other than Bucky’s heavy breaths, the room is silent for a few moments. Then, he hears muted footsteps padding their way towards him before a weight settles on the other side of the bed with a slight pull of the covers. He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

  
  


*****

The next time he wakes up, it’s for his shift. After the scare earlier that day, he is incredibly grateful for the mundane sight that greets him.

Now that he knows better than to take things for granted, he lets himself take an extra long look at the steady rise and fall of little guy’s chest before returning to sleep. 

The rest of the next is equally calm,

  
  


*****

  
  


At 7am, he decides to get up for the day. 

He’s still tired from the turbulent episodes of the past few days, not to mention having to wake up regularly for the past few hours, but it’s a lot later than his usual wake-up time, and he doesn’t think that he’s going to go running. The morning is still quiet, soft rays of light gently filtering in through the windows. 

It is Steve’s favourite time of day, where he can just breathe in the sweet solitude of the world awakening and feel the sun invigorate his body as cool air fills his lungs. With little guy’s sleeping figure in front of him, he gazes out into the quaint little garden outside Bucky’s room, taking in the blooming flowers as they shyly open their petals to face the sun, the delicate spheres of dew lining the green blades of grass. At this moment, he feels at peace.

Some amount of time passes. Steve isn’t keeping track, but he senses Bucky stirring behind him. The sound of joints popping with a good stretch, the slight grunt as he gets out of bed, the muted sound of footsteps coming to stop behind him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Bucky’s soft voice wraps around him like a warm blanket of sunlight.

Still looking out on the garden, Steve smiles fondly. “Yes, yes it is.”

“I’m usually not awake early enough to see it, as you can probably tell, I’m a bit more of a night owl. But whenever I do come out and see the sun rising, it really just takes your breath away, and I just hope that little guy lives long enough to get to play in that garden…”

Despite the new morning, Steve can tell that the scare from yesterday still weighs heavily on them. 

“Hey,” Steve tries, attempting to inject some comfort into the sombre mood of the room. “I’m sure he’ll be alright! He’s just going through a rough patch right now… You know I was a scrawny little shrimp for most of my childhood, the doctors thought I would die before age 15, but here I am, healthy as a horse!”

“You? Scrawny?” He sees the scepticism in Bucky’s face.

“Yeah! When I was 16, I couldn’t run a mile without breaking out into a coughing fit and I was 90 pounds, soaking wet, swear to God.”

Bucky is unashamedly eyeing his biceps with a critical look. “How did they stuff all those muscles in such a small body even?” 

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but Bucky cuts him off with a sniff. “Actually, take that back. After seeing your exercise gear, I fully understand how one could fit a large solid mass in a too-small container, even if I don’t understand why you would do that.”

Against his will, Steve feels his cheeks heat up. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last bit.” His attempt at self-righteous posturing is met by loud guffaws from the peanut gallery.

“Anyway, it was mostly due to an experimental drug that I signed up to try out once I turned 18. No one was really sure what would happen, but it seems to have worked, and once childhood asthma got kicked to the curb and my lungs cleared up, I just shot up like a weed, and I bet it’s going to be exactly the same for little guy over here,” Steve says confidently, chest slightly puffed out.

Bucky laughs. “Well, if that’s the case, I better go and return some of the outfits I got for him and get them in a bigger size. Won’t want him looking like a tool wearing too tight clothes like some people over here.” He completes the sentence with a deliberate side eye towards Steve.

Steve meanwhile is so enraptured by the open joy on Bucky’s face that it takes him a while to realise he’s been insulted. He sputters indignantly.

“Hey! My shirts are perfectly fine, you should, you should look at your hair if you want to talk pal!”

It’s not his best comeback. He hopes that Bucky doesn’t know how much he wants to run his fingers through those dark locks, and prays that Bucky’s never been approached by a recruiter to become a hair model (though the world is missing out).

Fortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to hear Bucky’s response. A large yawn bursts out from his chest and pushes his arms out into a great big stretch. He hadn’t realised how tired he still was, but the excitement of this exchange with Bucky has gotten him all worn out again.

He hears Bucky chuckle. “All right then, Mr I-do-sketchy-drugs, I think it’s time for you to go take a proper nap and catch up on some beauty sleep. Not everyone can pull off dark circles as well as we do.”

Steve would protest, but his eyelids are already nodding off for him. Wordlessly, he picks himself up and climbs back into the bed, snuggling deeply into a warm cocoon of blankets.

  
  


*****

  
  


He wakes up feeling refreshed just in time for brunch. 

By the time he pads outside, rubbing his eyes free from the last vestiges of sleep, he sees Bucky cutting up some vegetables with a trio of inquisitive raccoons watching the rhythmic motions of the knife intensely. At the sound of his footsteps, Bucky turns around, brandishing the knife and a breathtaking smile. Steve doesn’t know which one is more lethal

He’s wearing an apron with an image of a raccoon on it and a caption underneath that says “I eat a trash diet”. He swoons.  _ I must have done a very good thing in a past life to wake up to this. _

They eat a lovely meal of vegetable-and-everything-else-in-Bucky’s-fridge stir fry, and the raccoons enjoy a small medley of fresh soft fruits and vegetables perched on the table next to them. Like a little tea party.

He is relieved to see that they’ve returned to their usual casual banter, but more than that, there appears to be a new, stronger, deeper connection between the two of them. They talk about a range of subjects, from Bucky’s childhood exploits to Steve’s eccentric gaggle of friends.

Eventually the conversation draws to a natural lull as the plates clear and they still have a whole afternoon to go. Steve sips his coffee while he works up the courage to offer a suggestion.

“Hey Buck, if you don’t have anything to do this afternoon, we can maybe just hang around your TV and watch ...Ice Age?”

  
  


*****

  
  


It takes them the whole day, but they do it. 

Sitting on the furry carpet, leaning against the terrible couch, watching the animated animal characters on their quests. Little guy sleeps in the box between the two of them while the raccoon trio scurry around the room in search of the vegetable treats that Bucky taught Steve to hide around. 

Whenever they successfully locate their prizes, the raccoons run up proudly to him and chitter loudly in his face, forcing him to hide more treats to entertain them. Steve hates to admit it, but even with his best tricks, stashing carrot sticks and nuts in the most obscure nooks he can find, the raccoons somehow still manage to triumph within a matter of minutes each time. 

He scowls at Rebecca, who seems a little too smug for a raccoon. She is completely unfazed by his death glare, and just chirps at him impatiently. Stomping petulantly and grumbling under his breath, he goes to hide more food and tries to disguise his actions from their watchful gazes. He tries to pretend not to hear Bucky’s lively laughter ringing out behind him, but his lips twitch upward anyway.

Five movies, spanning ten hours, released across a decade. One wooly mammoth, one saber tooth tiger, one deranged squirrel and one human baby. One recovering veteran turned raccoon rescuer, one dorito-shaped artist, three slightly feral raccoons.

One afternoon well-spent.

  
  
  
  


*****

  
  


By the time it hits 8pm, Steve has to head home. The weekend has been a vibrant splash of activity and he is loath to have to end it, but he’s spent more than 2 days there and has a meeting to get to tomorrow morning.

As his last act of support, he hurries Bucky off to take a quick nap before he has to deal with the night watch all by himself. Left alone in the bedroom which has started growing more familiar to him while Bucky washes up in the toilet, he walks over to little guy’s crate to say his last goodbyes. After yesterday’s episode, he is still wary of another relapse, but it had also given him the opportunity to see Bucky fierce dedication to his furry friends. 

“I know you just opened your eyes a while ago, so you might not have gotten a good look, but let me just tell you, Bucky’s sad face is really terrible to see, so for the both of us, you gotta get better, you capisce?”

He waits a beat. The tiny raccoon yawns and wiggles a little. Steve nods, satisfied.

“Great! I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Same time this week, you’re going to be all spunky, and you, me and your dad are going to watch Animal Planet or something with you to get a headstart on your education.” 

Steve isn’t exactly sure if that’s how this raising-young-raccoons-thing works (he’s a first time parent okay, give him a break!) but he figures it can’t hurt for little guy to get some positive role models in his life.

It may not be much, but between television raccoons, Bucky and himself, he thinks that little guy might not have that bad of a lot in life.

“Take care little guy, I’ll see you soon.”

With one final look, he turns to leave. From behind him, he doesn’t see Bucky emerge from the bathroom, a soft smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and thus concludes our little three-part arc on spontaneous sleepovers! A short chapter with some bed-sharing shenanigans and feel-good fluff. 
> 
> The next chapter is some all out crack and is probably my favourite chapter so far!! really excited for that go to live :D
> 
> Until then, new chapters for 'someday we'll all have perfect wings' on tuesday and thursday, and come chat with me in the comments!


	7. culture club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yes this is real.

  
  
  
  


As he pulls up to the familiar exterior of Bucky’s house, he doesn’t know what to expect.

Throughout the week, Bucky had been sending him little photo updates of little guy with cute captions to go with them and so far, the raccoon seemed to have gotten over the pneumonia scare. Images of a tiny raccoon yawn, a sleepy towel-wrapped baby, and enthusiastic formula consumption would pop up on his phone at all hours of the day and never failed to bring a smile to his face. 

Still, seeing them both in person was a whole different ball game and he was still worried that he would come to find a sickly and listless raccoon. Nonetheless, he tried to convince himself to have faith in Bucky’s reassurances about little guy’s health. After all, it wasn’t like a pneumonic, dying raccoon could have grown two whole new whiskers in a week right? (Yes, he did keep track; he was a devoted self-appointed godfather okay? Bite him. Unless you’re a raccoon, in which case, please don’t.)

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he dismounts from his motorcycle and walks up the driveway. Taking a deep breath, he raps on the familiar door and waits patiently for Bucky to answer.

A moment later, he hears a muffled “ _ it’s open!”  _ and lets himself in. Turning into the living room, his prepared greeting dies on his lips when he’s  _ tackled _ by a furry mass of  _ death and destruction. _

He yelps. (It was manly shriek. No, he is  _ not _ embarrassed, thank you very much).

He hears Bucky’s howls in the background while he struggles to wrangle whatever savage beast has just attacked him.  _ Don’t worry Bucky, I’ll protect you! _

His attempt to be a noble knight in shining armour ends when he fails to subdue the feral creature and has to wait for the person with  _ actual _ armour in the form of a sleek metal arm to come and rescue him.

Laughing, Bucky swoops in and picks up what he now realises is a  _ raccoon _ and holds it comfortably in one hand. (In hindsight, Steve supposes that he might have guessed that it was a raccoon, but he  _ panicked _ , okay?) After casually trying to fix his hair and straighten his carefully selected outfit, Steve surveys his assailant.

The raccoon is much smaller than the terrible trio, and is giving him an infectious grin. He smiles back instinctively as his vision pans down.

He pauses.

_ “...Is it wearing diapers?” _

“What about it?”

Steve is taken aback. He had thought that it was a self-explanatory question.

“Well, why?”

Bucky scowls. “To avoid  _ accidents _ , Steven. Little guy hasn’t been out of his crate until just recently, so he’s still going to need some time to be potty trained.”

“Wait, that’s little guy? He’s so big now, and he looks great! Looks like someone’s kicked pneumonia’s as—  _ ahem _ ...butt.” He’s so thrilled at little guy’s incredible recovery that he’s momentarily thrown off his original line of questioning. An  _ important _ line of questioning about Bucky’s sartorial influence on his raccoons.

“Can’t you at least let him wear a shirt? He looks so naked like this!”

“That’s  _ rich _ coming from you, Mr-I-wear-too-tight-shirts-or-nothing-at-all-in-pub—”

“OKAY I get the point, we’re moving on!” Steve tries to push down the furious blush in his cheeks.  _ He just doesn’t like his shirts flapping about in the wind! _

Getting one last chuckle in, Bucky continues brightly. “So, now that little guy is feeling better, I thought it would be a good time to introduce him to the rest! He’s a little younger than them, but they are still around the same age so I thought it would be good to socialise them together so when I release them, they have each other.”

Steve privately thinks that he would rather shield his precious little baby from the evil influences of Bucky’s teenage punks, but he knows that he’s being overprotective, and just follows Bucky to the enclosure.

  
  


*****

  
  


Rebecca suddenly growled and swiped at him, clearly displeased with his encroachment on her territory. Though still a juvenile raccoon herself, she was a good raccoon head taller than little guy, and could be downright vicious sometimes, as evidenced by the little tooth-shaped holes carved into the metal of his left arm.

_ (He had never been so glad to have lost his arm until the moment when he had first seen those little indentations and a positively unrepentant raccoon. If anything, she had even bared her teeth a little more at him. He gave a little shudder. It was then that he knew for sure that he had given her the right name. Becca had been a little biter as well. Even in high school, some of their more rowdy tussles had involved teeth.) _

He stands to the side, poised to jump in to break up the fight, as the two raccoons are locked in a tense-standoff. No one breathes for a moment and the only movement is the twitching of whiskers.

Surprisingly, the altercation does not end with a new tiny raccoon pelt under a terrifying predator-in-training. Instead, Rebecca gives a snobbish little huff and turns away, fluffing her tail at them all in a clear dismissal of all the unworthy peasant men behind her. Little guy, chest still puffed up in righteous indignation, has a self-satisfied smirk on his face and brushes his hands off on his coat. Somehow, the two have apparently reached an agreement.

Bucky stands flabbergasted. This was entirely unexpected. No one has been able to stand up to Rebecca and live to tell the tale (at least with their dignity intact. Bucky’s attempt to hold back a grape had ended with him tossing it halfway across the room before sprinting away to arm himself with a thick wool blanket to avoid getting mauled by a deprived and aggrieved raccoon. Let no one speak of scorned women without having yet experienced the hell of a spitting alpha raccoon female.)

Staring at Steve who similarly has his mouth open, Bucky can’t help but choke out a laugh. He knows Steve had had his own share of run-ins with Rebecca and her posse of submissive servants who she held firmly under her tiny repressive raccoon thumb, that had ended with him slinking off, licking his metaphorical wounds while she licks her forearm in victory. 

And now, a tiny little runt who a week ago, was struggling to catch his next breath, had toppled the oppressive tyrant of the household.  _ Had slain the metaphorical beast.  _ Little guy and all 10 of his lightly furred inches had stood tall against the dragon and won. Even now, he planted his feet on the ground with a stubborn glint in his eyes; the tiny slip of a thing.

Everyone would have said that he was outclassed and should have known his place, but it seemed that little guy refused to let his size stop him from standing up to bullies.  _ What a silly little punk,  _ Bucky thinks fondly. He would definitely grow up to be a spitfire.

Mind flashing back to that memorable conversation when Steve shared that he himself had been a small but spunky kid getting into all sorts of fights with bullies twice his size, Bucky chuckles at the similarity. What were the odds that Steve would have stumbled on the only other creature in New York with no sense of self-awareness of self-preservation? And that both the big dorky and lovable goof as well as his mini-me would end up under Bucky’s roof?

With that idea in his mind, he looks back at little guy and almost bursts out laughing. Steve has apparently recovered from his shock earlier than Bucky, because he has already crouched to the floor to reach eye-level with little guy. Taking a closer look at the pair, Bucky realises that Steve is  _ beaming.  _

“Little guy! I’m so proud of you! Way to go, standing up to the big meanie over there — don’t let anyone tell you that you’re too tiny to do what’s right. If someone tries to put you down, you either tell me or Bucky, or you sock them in the face, got it?”

Torn between correcting the bad influence being imparted on his ward  _ (“God Steve, you can’t just go around telling young impressionable children that they can just go around hitting people! Violence is never the answer — we’re not training them to be uncivilised brutes, for goodness sake!” “But Bucky _ —”  _ “No buts! Have some etiquette!)  _ and rolling over laughing at the serious note in Steve’s voice as he instructed the young raccoon on the ways of the world, Bucky just watches the intense look of concentration on little guy’s face. Somehow, the fact that the raccoon was wearing a diaper didn’t detract away from the solemnity of the impromptu motivational talk. Maybe it was the fact that he had long become desensitised to feisty little beings who were overly eager to fight anything and everything while wearing nothing but some too-tight bottoms.

_ Wait.  _

A brilliant idea strikes him. He can’t believe how he had missed out on the resemblance before this point. Little guy had a tough start in life, struggling with all sorts of health issues including pneumonia. He was nursed back to health by his attentive guardians and his own tenacity. Once he got back on his feet, he took no nonsense from anyone and strutted around with a confidence far bigger than his body. And he was dressed (not from his own initiative, but Bucky had coincidentally been the cause of certain people’s dressing habits or lack thereof recently anyway) in just a simple pair of diaper shorts.  _ With no shirt. _

He chortles in utter glee.

The loud, graceless squawk that erupts from him is enough to tear the subjects of his revelation away from their private correspondence and both turn to look at him. Man and raccoon alike quirk matching inquisitive eyebrows at him.

Through shameless guffaws, he tries to explain his epiphany to them. They both give him unimpressed looks.

Not deterred in the slightest at their apathy, Bucky continues to giggle to himself. It seems that Steve wasn’t unmoved by Bucky’s delight, because after a while, he cracks a grin.

“Alright, you’ve had your little psychoanalytical moment. Are we ready to move on?”

Bucky stops laughing immediately and pins Steve with a serious look. “Of course not! Do you know what this means? Little guy is reaching the four week mark and now that he’s pretty safely out of the woods, and the universe has sent us a sign, the day has come.”

With a dramatic flourish, he pauses and closes his eyes to let the full weight of this momentous occasion sink in. When the atmosphere feels right, he jerks his head back up. Raising his arms in a grand gesture, he prepares his most theatrical voice.

_ “It is time ...for the naming ceremony!”  _

  
  


*****

  
  


If you had asked Steve what he thought he would have been spending his Saturday afternoon doing, he would probably have given a little shrug before ducking his head to hide the embarrassed little grin and light blush running up his cheeks. 

He imagined it would be a combination of watching some teenage raccoons wrestling in the middle of Bucky’s living room, cradling a sleepy little baby in his arms and bouncing him gently, possibly with an educational documentary on in the background. Maybe, if he were  _ really _ lucky, he would be able to lean his shoulder lightly against Bucky’s and both of them would be stroking a raccoon in their laps while learning about the extended raccoon network in major cities. 

Spending time with Bucky in and of itself was a treat no matter what, and getting to see his furry friends (future step-kids?) was a bright spot in his week as well, so he wasn’t fussy about what activities they engaged in for the weekend. Still, being a participant in what he could only describe as ...an elaborate coming-of-age ceremonial raccoon ritual was not entirely on his mind.

_ There were scented candles and dumpster-themed decor. _

He had tried to weasel out of the ...procession, but to no avail.

_ (“Um, I’m not really sure if I have the right attire with me now and I would hate to taint the energies of the—” _

_ “No worries, you can have my spare set of robes! The fit might be a little tight, but that’s never bothered you before!”) _

And that was that.

Sneaking a quick look at what was going on, he spied Bucky and little guy standing in front of a wooden ...mantle? carved to look like a wise raccoon elder (or maybe the Mother Raccoon? What did he know about raccoon spiritual beliefs anyway?) locked in what seemed like a private and incredibly intense exchange.

Blinking twice to confirm what he was witnessing, he saw Bucky and little guy simultaneously lean in to touch their foreheads together.  _ And yup, they’re holding hands too now.  _

Around their second week of co-parenting, Bucky had shyly offered to have Steve formally initiated into their little group. Not wanting to put Bucky out of his way to print an extra custom lanyard or purchase a matching wristband or something for him, Steve had laughingly waved him off.  _ Thank God for that,  _ he thinks, as he blankly takes a suspiciously hollow-sounding rock from the proffered basket _.  _ Bucky smiles at him sweetly from behind his black eye makeup and Steve offers a weak smile back. __ In hindsight, he had dodged a HUGE bullet.

Bucky has since returned to the front of the room and is now doing ...unspeakable things to the rock. This entire situation was too bizarre for even him. 

Stealthily, he manoeuvred his phone out of his pocket from under the robes and typed a quick search into Google. 

_ how do i know if i’m being inducted into a cult _

Flashes of scary black and white images filled the screen. Nervously, he looked back at the scene in front of him. All he saw were shades of gray.  _ Oh my gosh, they have the same colour palette.  _

He licked his lips nervously. Bucky appeared to be chanting some indecipherable words in a low voice. 

_ Relax Steve,  _ he scolded himself _ , you’re an artist. You just look at these things too much. _

That was a good point. He probably was overthinking this and being too paranoid. Relaxing slightly, he chose the first link and clicked onto that article. It happens to be from Oprah’s magazine and Steve heaves a sigh of relief. Good old Oprah would never lead him astray.

**_Warning signs that you’re being manipulated into a cult_ **

  * _They make extensive use of cult-generated information and propaganda (YouTube, newsletters, movies and other media)._



Steve looked at the TV screen which was still playing the programme on raccoon life in the city on mute in the background. A drop of cold sweat formed on his temple. He continued reading.

  * _They manipulate a person and deprive them of sleep._



Thinking back to just last week and the tortuous hourly wake-up alarms to check on a sleeping little guy, his mouth suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. But that was to take care of little guy! And he really  _ was _ sick, it’s not like he was a secret actor who was just faking his illness the entire time!  _ He did seem to recover from his ‘pneumonia’ real quickly, didn’t he?  _ A sinister voice in the back of his mind prompted. Steve shook his head and focused back on his phone. He knew Bucky and little guy. How could those innocent eyes possibly deceive him of anything?

The next 3 signs were all similar, revolving around how cults seek to control a person’s thought patterns and create a dependency on the group.

  * _They require members to internalize the group's doctrine as truth (black-and-white, good vs evil thinking)._


  * They employ hypnotic techniques to alter mental states, undermine critical thinking and age-regress the member.


  * They instill fear, such as fear of the outside world, enemies, leaving or being shunned by the group.



If not for the eerie silence in the room, he would have laughed out loud in relief.  _ There! There’s no mind control going on. It’s not as if after meeting Bucky and little guy, I’ve started changing my habits a lot and spending tons of time over here, thinking about little guy and how he’s doing non-stop, donating a good chunk of my salary to wildlife rehabilitation organisations, constantly dreaming of Bucky and wishing that he would put his perfect hands in my hair and look at me with those gorgeous eyes and… _

His smile fell and his face froze. He quickly read the list again.

Hands shaking, he closed the webpage and opened his chat group with his friends quickly. This was all a coincidence. He was being ridiculous. He just needed to casually slip in what he was doing and let his friends laughingly tell him that everything was normal and he was just being silly, after which he would send an emoji back and tell them that he was just joking. Yes. That was what he would do.

  
  


**_Assembly of Avengers_ **

_ *one week ago* _

_ The Stark Truth:  _ Hey Cap, you up to come for paintball with us on Saturday? Food and drinks on me!

_ Viking God:  _ Yes Friend Steven, it has been a few moons since we have seen each other!

_ Captain Obvious:  _ Sorry guys, heading to Bucky’s for the weekend!

_ hawkguy: _ Aw man, can’t you just go on Sunday only instead? You haven’t joined any of our events for a while now…

_ The Jolly Green Giant: _ It would be good to spend some time with you.

_ Captain Obvious: _ Maybe another time guys

_ Bird boi #2: _ Fine, but you better make it for my party next month!

_ Red Menace: _ Have fun.

  
  
  


Looking at that previous exchange, his heart sinks.

He tries to type out a message as quickly as possible with his sweaty palms.

  
  
  


_ Captain Obvious: _ Hey guys, sorry you haven’t heard from me in a while. I’m at Bucky’s now and we’re doing a naming ritual for little guy! You should check out the custom altar and robes we all have, and Bruce, you would probably love to learn about the secret ancient language Bucky knows!

  
  
  


The replies come in a flurry. Apparently all of his friends live on their phones. Or maybe they’re just eager to hear from him.

  
  
  


_ The Stark Truth: Um Steve, What? You know you shouldn’t be going on drunk benders without me… (don’t tell Pepper I said this) _

_ The Jolly Green Giant: Steve, I’m not very sure I’m familiar with, well, the existence of secret raccoon rituals or human-raccoon languages. _

_ Viking God: This is a most interesting activity! In all my travels around the world to isolated, rural communities, I have never heard of such a practice! _

_ Bird boi #2: You okay man? Need me to come and talk to you? _

_ hawkguy: That’s intense man, all Lucky and I do is sit on the couch and watch Dog Cops together while eating pizza _

  
  
  


His already rapidly-pounding heart starts to thrum even faster. His vision gets slightly blurry and he almost misses the last vibration signalling Natasha’s reply due to his own trembling.

  
  
  


_ Red Menace: Oh, церемония наречения енота! I used to love those growing up. Give little guy my congratulations. _

  
  
  


His eyes bug out of his head.

  
  
  


_ Captain Obvious: HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS? _

_ Red Menace: I told you, there are a lot of raccoons in Mother Russia. _

  
  
  


Still shaking slightly, he thanks her for her insight and promises to let her know little guy’s new name after the ceremony is over. Sneaking a peek up at what he’s missed, he accidentally meets Rebecca’s eyes across the room.

She gives him a veritable death stare and narrows her eyes at him.  _ I know what you were doing.  _

Guiltily, he rushes to keep his phone and returns to his deferential stance, mind still racing.

Fortunately, the rest of the ritual seems to go by quickly, and he tries not to think too much about the washing of hands in the sacred water and participates enthusiastically in the hymns by following the phonetic pronunciations detailed in the printed booklet given to him.

At last, Bucky declares that he is ready to announce little guy’s name.

The aforementioned raccoon turns to face the room, standing tall and proud, but with a clear nervous anticipation running through his frame. The three raccoons to the side chitter encouragingly. Bucky stands behind him like a proud father. Suddenly, everyone else is raising their hands to the sky and Steve hastily follows. 

Steve is still baffled by the seamless choreography but claps politely anyway.

“Thank you all for coming today to celebrate this important milestone in the life of the newest member of our family. This raccoon, formerly known as little guy, has been through many trials and tribulations during his short period on Earth. It has been my absolute honour to care for him all this while, and I have had the privilege of coming to learn more about him, and possibly even call him friend.”

Bucky pauses to wipe a tear from his eye, not even trying to avoid smudging his makeup. Little guy reaches over to take his spare hand and Bucky accepts it gratefully. In his peripheral vision, he spots Romeo sniffing lightly while Rebecca pats him comfortingly on the back.

Steve feels like he has entered the twilight zone and left his body. He unintentionally runs through his list of allergies and wonders if anything could have been slipped into the lasagna they had for lunch. He staunchly refuses to think of the possibility of psychedelics being involved.

Bucky seems to have gathered himself together again and continues tearfully. “Never in my years of raccoon rehabilitation have I met a raccoon with as much spirit and strength as you, my dear one. Nor have I been fortunate enough to have such a kind and dedicated friend to support me through this journey.” 

Bucky casts a meaningful look at Steve and all thoughts of hallucinatory drugs are out of his mind as he meets that stare. All of a sudden, he’s feeling a lump forming in his throat. 

“As such, I have decided that there is no name more fitting than one first carried by a man with a similarly undying fire in him, which is why I hereby pronounce you…

_ Roger Raccoon!” _

He can’t help it. He bursts into tears. 

As a young, sickly outcast, Steve had always been a loner growing up. Not often, but sometimes, he would come crying to his mother at night when all his bravado was stripped away, how lonely and unloved he felt when no one ever wanted to be his friend. She had always gently wiped his tears away and crooned to him sweetly,  _ “My dear Steven, all those children know nothing about how special you are, and that is their loss. One day, you’ll meet a person that makes your heart sing, who sees how precious and wonderful you are.” _

It had always quieted his sobs, and in his darkest moments, he clung to that message of hope. When he met Sam and the rest of his friends, he knew that as eccentric as they were, they would be his lifelong friends. But the moment he met Bucky, and every interaction after that, it became clearer and clearer to him that whatever connection he had felt with them was but a shade of the pure love he had for Bucky. No one had ever made him feel more special and loved.

  
  


*****

  
  


The ceremony ends soon after. Steve sobs through most of it.

He only realises that the ritual is over when he feels a soft hand on his shoulder and looks up into familiar blue eyes. Through tears, he garbles out a thank you, and Bucky smiles sweetly back at him.

“Thank you for bringing Roger into my life and staying with us as well.”

He hugs him tightly and they stay in that embrace for a long time.

When they finally separate, they see the four raccoons playing happily on the carpet. He can still feel Bucky’s warmth against his body.

_ This,  _ he thinks _ , is happiness. _ Bucky looks at him with the brightest smile and Steve  _ melts. _

All fears of cults and strange traditions leave his mind. If it meant being part of this family, he would go through thousands of rituals gladly. He’s still staring dopily back at Bucky when the object of his undying affections touches his shoulder and asks chirpily.

“So, are you sure you don’t want your own initiation ceremony? I’m sure the raccoons wouldn’t mind!”

He freezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has firmly placed this fic into the more crack end of the spectrum and I have never been prouder in my life. I wasn't sure if I wanted to take the dive but I tripped headfirst into the water and this is what we are now surrounded with! Information credits go to Oprah's website :)
> 
> Last chapter of 'someday we'll all have perfect wings' will be up on Wednesday and for those of you who are captive prince fans, I've recently started writing for that fandom under 'thegoldensun' if you want to check it out :-)


	8. a rhapsody of raccoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exploration of Steve's relationship with melodrama and Bucky's interaction with emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: theatrics, egg death and self-worth issues

Riding off the (hopefully not drug-induced) high from last week, Steve floats over to Bucky’s house, a dopey grin on his face. He may or may not be humming, but there is a definite skip in his step.

He’s all ready to spend an entire weekend in bliss with his favourite group of creatures. 

He’s just stepped onto the little gravel path leading up to the door when it opens suddenly. For a split second, he thinks that Bucky has opened the door prematurely out of an excitement to see him, and the idea that Bucky might have been waiting behind the curtain to welcome his arrival makes him swoon slightly. 

All his hopes and dreams are shattered in the next moment when a wildly attractive black man steps out, escorted by a Bucky who is smiling  _ for someone other than him. _

His mouth goes dry and he feels like all his strings have been cut. It is only the fact that he’s frozen in his spot that prevents him from collapsing to the ground.  _ Somebody else somebodyelse somebodyelsesomebodyelse. _

The man raises a muscled arm to the back of his head, and Steve can’t help how his eyes immediately go to the contours of his physique.  _ He’s probably not even deliberately flexing like me.  _ Bucky laughs but now it only fills him with ugly, ugly jealousy.

If he were a raccoon, his hackles would be up. The primitive, animal part of his brain wants to sprint over there, rip Bucky away from this  _ challenger _ and pee on him to mark his territory while hissing a possessive  _ “mine, mine, mine”. _

In the distance, Bucky puts a casual hand onto the man’s shoulder and they gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment. Against the bright afternoon sun, their silhouettes are lit up and they look perfect together. Steve crumples.

He hasn’t wanted to run home crying like this since kindergarten. He wonders if it’s too late to do that again. Sam would probably take him in and give him a warm blanket and let him eat Rocky Road as long as he watched Queer Eye with him, right?

He sees the power couple finally separate, and Bucky sends the man off with a happy wave. He gives an equally bright grin back and walks towards a sleek, sophisticated black car that probably costs more than Steve’s apartment. He looks back at his own scuffed up motorbike and sniffles.  _ Good riddance, but it’s not like Bucky would want him anyway when he has  _ **_that_ ** **,** he thinks with no small amount of disdain. 

“Steve!”

To his chagrin, his brooding fest is interrupted by an enthused shout of his boring old name.

Bucky waves him over with a bright smile, his eyes lighting up with joy. Any other time, Steve would be cooing internally about how gorgeous and positively adorable Bucky is, greeting him with an equally blinding smile. Now, he has to fight down his sulking expression and try not to look like he’s been moping as much as he has been.

“Hey Steve, how have you been? I wanted to have you meet T’Challa, but he had to go off for an emergency meeting. We’ve got to get together sometime!” Bucky greets him cheerfully and despite Bucky’s typically infectious positive energy, Steve has to struggle not to let his face sour. 

“I’m doing great!” He fakes a happy demeanour which seems to fool Bucky. “That was ...T’Chama was it?” (He may or may not be petty enough to deliberately mispronounce the man’s name.)

“T’Challa, actually. It means ‘he who put the knife where it belonged’ in his language!” Bucky is thankfully oblivious to Steve’s resentment.

_ God, even his name is cool. How am I supposed to compete with that? Maybe Ma should have named me after Grandpa Aodhan after all,  _ he thinks glumly.

“So, um, what was he doing here?” He hopes that doesn’t sound too nosy. 

“I asked him to come over, just to take a look at Roger. He’s been doing really well but I’m just a little overprotective over my little ones, so I wanted a second opinion. T’Challa was kind enough to agree to pop by and check over him and he agrees that Roger’s growing up to be a fine young raccoon!”

Part of Steve is gutted at the fact that this  _ T’Challa _ was invited into Bucky’s house to look at Roger. This was supposed to be  _ their  _ thing. He’s only comforted by the fact that no matter how much this fellow tries to worm his way closer to Bucky and insert himself into their little family, Bucky named Roger after  _ him. _

“That’s wonderful to hear! You’ve known him for a long time then?” He prods casually.

“Yeah, it must have been right after I came back from Iraq. It was actually T’Challa and his sister, Shuri, who got me into this rescue and rehabilitation business. They own their own wildlife sanctuary called ‘Wakanda’ and are the biggest animal welfare non-profit in the state. They do some really good work.”

The worst thing is, when he nods in agreement with Bucky’s clearly adoring assessment, he’s not even pretending. That  _ is _ super cool.

“Other than raccoons, do they handle any other animals?”

Bucky lights up at the question. “Yeah! Shuri’s a real genius who creates all sorts of fantastic tech-bioengineering-magic products and T’Challa runs the company, but in their spare time and with most of their profits, they put it into a huge plot of land where they take care of all sorts of animals. T’Challa has a bird called Guy Hawkes who may or may not be there on asylum after a failed plot to launch a coup… and he also specialises in taking care of big cats!” 

_ Is this guy even real? Where did he come from? He’s like a dark horse, coming to steal my man! _

A new wave of panic rises in him. He needs a plan to win Bucky back,  _ stat. _

_ Oh man, he’s been prowling around Bucky for such a long time, sneaky just like the cool big cats whose club he probably has an honorary membership to too! He definitely has some sort of impressive title like ...Black Panther. Wait, no, that’s kinda lame. More like… Dark Leopard! Yeah — Dark Leopard!  _

He feels pumped for a moment about his excellent naming skills before he remembers what this was all about. Instantly, he deflates and curses to himself.  _ Damn it, even I think he’s too cool to hate at this point! _

Grumbling silently to himself so Bucky won’t pick up on the petty pity party going on behind him, he tries to wipe the jealousy from his face. 

“That’s ...nice. So, you talk to him a lot?”

“Yeah, whenever they have an animal in my wheelhouse in need of a foster, they usually send them my way, but after that, they mostly trust me to handle the rehabilitation and release. Other than that, I also do some computer work for them…” Bucky trails off awkwardly, bringing an embarrassed hand up to scratch his face. 

This is the first time in this conversation that he’s been shy rather than starstruck and at Steve perks up at the prospect of a hidden side of Bucky. All thoughts about T’Challa and Bucky sitting in a romantic field dotted with wildflowers, adorable exotic rescue critters lounging in their lap while they alternate hand-feeding grapes to the animals and each other as the sun sets in the distance, leave his mind. He’s so excited to learn more about Bucky and eagerly chases for more details.

“Computer work? What type?” Bucky uses a computer, Steve’s a graphic artist so  _ he _ uses a computer… They might still be a match made in heaven after all!

Bucky ducks his head down and busies himself with opening the door. “Nothing much, I just help to manage their website, do some accounting work for them… Before I signed up to the army, I was studying computer science and T’Challa was actually the one who encouraged me to finish my degree when I came back.”

Even with the mention of  _ he who must not be named,  _ Steve feels slightly giddy. He can just imagine it: they would both be sitting quietly on matching comfortable armchairs or maybe even a  _ loveseat _ if he wanted to get frisky, and while the kids played amongst themselves on the carpet in front of them, they would serenely do their work on their respective laptops, but both of them would sometimes sneak little glances at each other from over their computer screens. He sighs wistfully and follows Bucky in through the door, into the scene of his domestic fantasy.

In the meantime, Bucky has rounded up the gang and they bunch together in the middle of the living room, looking as naughty as ever. Steve narrows his eyes at them and he swears that Romeo winks at him. His namesake is doing some dodgy scratching business at the back of the pack and Rebecca looks like the cat that got the cream. He turns his attention to Richard  _ who gives him an honest-to-God middle finger. _

He sputters in disbelief. 

Bucky remains oblivious as ever to the scheming machinations of the devils he’s raised behind him. “...ever since Roger graduated from his crate and started staying with the rest of them in their enclosure, they’ve gotten so much closer! It’s so lovely to see them play and get along with each other, don’t you think?” Bucky chatters on excitedly and Steve has to force himself to tear his eyes away from the mini terrors.

“Yeah, definitely. They’re certainly  _ precious,”  _ Steve grounds out through gritted teeth. Bucky doesn’t seem to hear the edge in his voice because he gives out another dazzling smile and turns to get a whole box full of assorted knick knacks out from a cupboard. Taking advantage of Bucky’s turned back, Steve shoots a death glare at them and mouths  _ “I’m on to you”  _ at the evil creatures while doing the universal sign for  _ I’m-watching-you _ . In response to his threat, they all smile matching eerie raccoon smiles, making sure to show off the pointy tips of their little teeth.

Steve shudders. He’s going to need to pay some  _ real careful attention  _ to them, and hopefully try to save his son before he gets corrupted beyond repair.

Bucky comes back soon after so Steve quickly replaces his sneer with a pleasantly neutral face. He can still hear their little raccoon snickers in the back of his head. Bucky grabs what looks to be some multi-coloured plastic eggs? from the box and starts handing them over to Steve, who receives them bewilderedly. 

“Are these ...Easter eggs?” 

Bucky’s grin turns sheepish. “Yeah, my Jewish family doesn’t really have these just lying around, but it’s a great toy to keep them occupied and teach them how to get their food in the wild. They’re still young, so we don’t need to worry about them fending for themselves in the wild for quite some time, but typically at this age they would still be with Mom, who would be teaching them all sorts of useful skills. Since they don’t have one, it’s up to you and me to be their surrogate parents and we’re going to do a great job at it!”

As he explains his idea, Bucky walks over to the kitchen and returns with a box full of grapes. The raccoons’ ears perk up. Steve feels a little silly standing in Bucky’s living room with two armfuls of empty plastic eggs but he also perks up when he sees the grapes. Images of a toga-clad Bucky feeding him grapes and stroking his hair while he lounges on a recliner come to his mind unbidden. 

“Are those a little snack for us while the raccoons play?”

Bucky laughs as if Steve has told a very funny joke. “Good one, Steve. These go inside the eggs and it’s up to them to figure out how to get them out.”

_ Oh my gosh. I bet T’Challa never tried to steal grapes from raccoons. No wonder Bucky likes him more. _

Oblivious to Steve’s inner turmoil and scarlet cheeks, Bucky continues talking cheerfully as he starts to twist the eggs open and fill them with grapes.

“A great man once told me, ‘Raccoons will sell their souls for grapes’. That particular piece of advice has gotten me out of many a sticky situation, and for now, it’s going to be their little reward and motivation for figuring out the mechanism.”

Already, the raccoons are crowding around him and sniffing around his knees inquisitively. Their grubby little hands are clawing at his jeans like creatures from hell seeking to ascend. He shivers.  _ I always knew there was something unsettling about raccoons having opposable thumbs. It’s just not right. _

“Sadly, little guy won’t really get to participate much in this because he’s still on formula, but we can get the older ones started on this activity first then we can go and give him his bottle. Here, I’ll take half and start to hide them around the room so they can use their noses to get more later, you can just hand a few out to them to try out first.”

As he speaks, Bucky moves around the room with his cargo after relieving a few eggs from Steve. The minute he steps away, it’s like the hounds of hell have been unleashed.

Whatever buffer Bucky was providing against the monsters is gone, and immediately, twelve limbs are scurrying up his body like it’s a tree trunk. If his pants weren’t nearly as tight as they were, they would most certainly have fallen to the floor already with how violently the raccoons are using them to claw their way up.  _ Thank God for small blessings.  _ He can almost feel the little pinpricks of their claws through the denim as they anchor their demon hands into his skin, but all of that pales in comparison to the feel of furry bodies brushing up against his bare skin as they reach the hem of his t-shirt and push aside uncaringly.

He can feel their warm breaths as they salivate for the precious goods he holds in his hands and it sends chills down his spine. Their bloodthirsty pants echo in his ears and he knows that he will not sleep easy for a few years now. In a fit of panic, he shoves the eggs at them and greedy hands reach out eagerly. Their prize having been collected, they scamper down his frame and dash to a corner of the room to investigate their loot. 

Steve is left sweating after that attack. Chest heaving with the exertion of having been in a vicious tussle with some wild animals, he tries to get his breathing under control. He regularly runs miles without breaking a sweat and has done his fair share of marathons. Yet, a brief encounter with three juvenile raccoons who wouldn’t even come up to his hip if they were stacked on top of each other somehow managed to make him feel like he had just had an asthma attack.

_ There’s definitely something wrong with them. _

Despite his racing heart, the entire bout must have only lasted a few seconds, because only then does Bucky turn back. Steve tries not to look as bedraggled as he feels. 

“Hey, nice job! Told you they were crazy about grapes. Look, Rebecca already seems to have figured out how to get the egg open, aren’t they so smart?”

Sure enough, when he turns to look, he sees Richard scrutinising the egg, holding it against the light, while Rebecca has successfully extracted a grape out. She holds eye contact with him and slowly starts to peel the skin of the grape. He just knows that she’s imagining him in its place.

_ Yeah, real smart,  _ he thinks bitterly. 

“They sure are!”

Bucky beams like a proud parent. Steve gives a strained smile back. A loud knock breaks their attention and they both whirl around to look at a sheepish Romeo who stands with a broken egg lying at his feet. 

He had apparently lost his patience with the egg and in true toddler tantrum fashion, had decided to smash it on the ground in a fit of rage. Serendipitously, that had cracked it open and granted him his grape.

“Well, that’s one way to get it out!” Bucky chuckles, and Steve would probably laugh as well if he hadn’t suddenly flashed to an image of his cracked head on the ground. 

With all three raccoons happily enjoying the literal fruits of their labour before heading off on the prowl to find some more unsuspecting victims, Roger has evidently had enough of being ignored. From his spot on the floor, he heads over to Bucky and tugs cutely on the leg of his pants, making a pitiful whining noise. Bucky positively melts. Crouching down, he opens his arms up and Roger lightly latches onto his forearm in a fuzzy imitation of a hug.

“Aw, was someone feeling ignored? I’m so sorry about that, but now, look who’s going to get his own special bottle!” Bucky coos to the tiny creature, who purrs back at him contentedly. Steve looks at them both with his mouth open.

He gets mauled to hell and beyond and Bucky gets a little  _ angel _ ?

He wishes nothing but the best for Bucky, but in this moment, he thinks that Bucky could probably afford to take one for the team and deal with the little terrors while he gets to coddle his little darling.

He sees Bucky continue baby-talking to Roger who gazes up at him with adoring eyes, and he can’t stay mad at them for long when they look so sweet. Sparing one last dirty look for the terrors in the living room, he follows Bucky and Roger into the kitchen.

  
  


*****

  
  


Bucky watches Roger happily suck down his formula in Steve’s arms. The little raccoon cups the bottle tightly as if he thinks he’s holding it up all by himself. He’s one of the greedier drinkers, a fact that he’s only come to learn after Roger had overcome his worrying lack of appetite from two weeks ago. Once the pneumonia had been kicked to the curb, he was certainly making up for lost time by drinking as quickly as possible.

As the contents of the bottle are drained, he watches Steve expertly remove the nipple from Roger’s mouth to prevent the insatiable raccoon from sucking down too much air and getting sick. He lazily tosses over the burping towel and Steve catches it smoothly before transferring Roger to his shoulder with the towel there to protect his clothes. Apparently one shirt sacrificed to him was enough.

Steve gently pats Roger’s back just like with a human baby and the tiny raccoon squirms and struggles, still searching for the empty bottle. It’s a humorous raccoon quirk, how it takes a few minutes after they finish their bottle for raccoons to realise that their bellies are full and they aren’t actually starving. At that thought, Roger’s stomach seems to have sent the message to his brain and he starts to settle down. His eyelids visibly droop and he slowly falls asleep contentedly. 

Softly, Steve passes the slumbering creature over to Bucky who walks back to the living room and places him gently in his enclosure. After consuming their grapes, even the usually excitable trio have conked out and are snoozing in a little furry pile in the centre of the carpet.

They take advantage of the rare moment of peace and quiet to just catch up with each other and conversation flows easily between them. Finally, after all the excitement of the afternoon, the two call it a day and Steve leaves with a jaunty wave and a promise to come back next week.

When the door closes, he slumps down.

Being with Steve is invigorating, but also immensely draining. He had been living through a fog for so long, broken up only by the snatches of joy he gained from his raccoons. Now, he feels  _ alive _ for the first time in a long time.

It had awakened a youthful joy and bashfulness in him, one that left him giddy and breathless whenever those bright eyes turned to look at him. He couldn’t help but gush to his two friends about the new person that had entered his life, and thinking about T’Challa’s knowing smile that morning brought a flush to his cheeks.

_ “So, this Steve of yours, when am I going to get to meet him? Do I need to get some of the cats out to scare him into treating you right?”  _

_ Bucky blushes furiously at the man’s teasing and gives him a light shove. _

_ “Please, there’s no need for your cats. I’ll just sic the raccoons on him and no one will ever trace it back to us.” _

_ They both share a laugh, born of firsthand knowledge of the wiliness of the creatures. _

_ T’Challa’s gaze softens. “I’m glad that you’ve finally met someone right for you, Bucky.” _

_ He gives a watery smile in return. This was how he knew that these were some of the precious people he would do anything for and fight to keep in his life forever. With Steve rapidly rising to join the list, he was eager to have all of his dearest friends come together. _

_ “Thank you. When you and Shuri get some time off, let me know and I’ll wrangle Steve down to join us. I’m certain that you’ll love him as well.” _

_ T’Challa smirks. “I’m sure. With the way you’ve been going on about him, he must be an actual angel!” Gracefully avoiding Bucky’s playful shove, he turns towards his car. _

_ “It was good to see you again, my friend. We’ll set a time. I’ll bring Shuri and you bring your perfect specimen along with you!” _

_ Laughing, Bucky sends him off, smiling fondly at the leaving car. He catches the sound of footsteps in the distance and turns to see Steve walking towards his house. Even with all of T’Challa’s joking, he’s not always sure that Steve isn’t an angel.  _

_ Beaming widely, in the way he can’t help but grin at such a welcome sight, he waves at the man excitedly. _

_ “Steve!” _

Once again, the man had lived up to his expectations and dreams. He had seemed a little stilted at the beginning and for a moment, Bucky worried that he was boring him and forcing him to stay out of polite obligation. After a while however, they returned to their usual easy conversation and the rest of the afternoon unfolded perfectly.

After all of Steve’s concerns about interacting with Rebecca, it seemed like he and the raccoons were getting along splendidly. Bucky sighs wistfully. How much more perfect can he get? The man is a successful artist, has a wide group of friends, looks like  _ that _ , and is good with his animals?

He can’t imagine why Steve would want to spend time with him. He’s a messed up, one-armed veteran with a job given to him out of pity. It’s a rare time when he can sleep through the night, and there are days where he’s too shaken to leave the house. He drives a beat-up truck with an animal carrier perpetually in the back and he’s too jumpy to get his hair cut. For God’s sake, half of his friends have whiskers!

Still, he’s long learnt not to question gifts when they come. Life in the desert had been a never-ending nightmare, but clinging onto those brief instances of happiness with his unit saw him through those years. 

Steve was quite possibly too good to be true, and most certainly too good for him, but as long as he for some reason decided that he wanted to stay, Bucky would grip on tightly to him and take whatever glimpses of sunshine he could.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah,,, I was worrying a lot over whether this chapter was too normal and boring after the fever dream of the last one, then I read it again and oh my gosh nope it's also off its rocker, which I think is an indication of exactly how hysterical these chapters are getting. 
> 
> (TW) The incomprehensible thing about this to me is that in between writing about suspiciously human-like raccoons and Steve's forays into second-rate Broadway, I am literally working on a brotherly-angst series complete with childhood sexual abuse and suicide attempts on one side (for my other fandom), and a grotesque exploration of torture-induced hallucinations during a male pregnancy on the other. Fanfiction is a wild ride indeed. 
> 
> Anyway, I have up to chapter 11 written and outlines for chapters 12-15 done, so we are all set to finish this work! I hope you enjoy this instalment with cool T'Challa cameo (is he as cool as Steve thinks or even cooler?!!!) and egg shenanigans, so let me know in the comments if you did! I am ...very slow about responding to comments on 'someday we'll all have perfect wings' even though I'm done about that and my excuses are threefold: 1) every time I sit down to respond to comments, I get a bolt of inspiration and spend the next few hours writing more instead compounding the problem 2) despite what my priorities would suggest, I have Responsibilities that I probably should be getting around too instead of this whoops and 3) I have lots of issues with talking to people and this sounds endlessly silly but I can compose a reply in my head within seconds but somehow having to write the words out is so hard for me for absolutely no good reason at all which has unsurprisingly caused me to lose several friendships over the years because I can't pick up the phone to reply to messages and ghost everyone instead which is an absolute joy when we're all in quarantine and I've just started university in a new country... life is joy sigh. Anyway, this basically means that while I absolutely adore comments and spend way too much time just reading them over and over again, I am actually just terrible at getting round to them especially on ...more serious 'emotional-y' works so I am very sorry for that, but I WILL reply to every single one. Please be patient with me.
> 
> Anyway, for those of you who do not want to read my life story, tldr: I am slow about comments, but please keep them coming because I do read every single one (many times) and will get to them. I am the cactus who loves hugs. I hope you are all doing well in life in the meantime!!


	9. putting the murder in murder raccoon club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you asked him, Steve would say that he would do anything for Bucky. Now that the time has come, he has to decide whether that was really true or not.

The message comes in on a normal Saturday morning. 

Steve’s heart flutters when he sees the notification on his phone from Bucky.

It simply reads:

_ Can you meet me in the park near that big grove of trees instead today? _

Followed by a seemingly innocuous:

_ Bring a shovel if you have one :) _

He pales.

  
  


*****

  
  


He knew it. From the moment he caught that homicidal glint in those beady raccoon eyes, he knew that this day would come. He hadn’t quite expected it to come so soon, nor for Bucky to so casually contact him about it, but in the back of his mind, he always knew that it was inevitable. It was always just a matter of time.

Part of him is secretly pleased that Bucky would ask  _ him _ for help in this very important endeavour, but the other part of him desperately wants to stay out of jail.

He also generally has some moral reservations about murder and aiding in the disposal of a (body. But those are of course minor considerations at this point.)

He paces up and down the length of his room and runs a hand through his hair.  _ He’s an artist! He doesn’t do this sort of thing! In no world is there a Steven Grant Rogers that gets involved in all sorts of sketchy espionage-y violent business! _

Half of him wants to go back to sleep and pretend this never happened and the other half is acutely aware that he has not yet responded to Bucky’s text.  _ Think, Steve, think! _

What are the odds that they would actually get caught? He’s a fairly unassuming-looking guy, and Bucky is just way too handsome to be a murderer, so chances are low that they would be suspected of any crime. Besides, it’s New York! Two guys carrying around a bunch of shovels and dragging a body-sized sheet to a secluded area of a park is hardly the strangest thing people have seen…

He’s slightly reassured by this line of thinking. Of course, the other possibility is a really big one that would probably change his life in a major way, so he might have to consider that seriously as well.

He hasn’t heard that many good things about prison, and if given the choice, it certainly wouldn’t be on his top ten list of holiday destinations, but is it really that bad? After helping Bucky out with such a major thing, he’s pretty sure that he could maybe try to make a move and ask Bucky out? And if the two of them could share a prison cell, they could hold hands from their respective bunks, brush their teeth together side-by-side in the mirror, go on long walks around the courtyard, no raccoons present…

_ Woah cowboy, slow down there! You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? _

With that realisation, he deflates. He  _ was _ acting quite presumptuously, expecting Bucky to just fall right into his arms. It’s still entirely possible that Bucky would just want to be friends, and he’d be trapped in the friendzone  _ and _ in prison at the same time. That wouldn’t be very good.

_ Hey hey, no, I didn’t mean that, keep your head up pal! Who’s to say that you’re even going to go to jail, or stay there? _

He perks up at that mini-pep talk. That’s right! He’s sure that Sam would come bail him out and get him and Bucky a good lawyer! Sam’s a good friend like that. He makes a note to get Sam a new hang-gliding voucher when all of this is over.

Besides, it’s not like the police would arrest the raccoons, right? The little bastards could probably just melt back into the shadows and masquerade as some innocuous park raccoons, and no one would be any the wiser!  _ Then _ , they could come back and break him and Bucky out, and the whole bunch of them could move to Canada or something. He heard that the moose are particularly active this time of year.

_...You think the raccoons can break you out of prison? _

He scowls at the voice in his head. It clearly hasn’t been there when the raccoons were up to all of their villainous shenanigans. Though on second thought, it  _ does _ raise a valid point. He knows that they are capable of some very, very bad things, but organising and executing a prison break might be a little out of their expertise. 

_ I guess you’ll just have to train them then! _

Exactly! Raccoons have opposable thumbs (he looked it up), which means that they could so learn to pick a lock. And they’re a little tiny, but if they stand on each other, he’s sure they could reach the steering wheel AND the pedals at the same time, which means they could absolutely drive! (He’s confident that this will work; he saw it in a movie.) Not like New Yorkers have particularly high bars for who’s allowed on the road anyway. With those basic skills down, they’re pretty much well-equipped to take on this responsibility, which is a contingency plan to begin with.

Ordinarily, he might have consulted Sam on what course of action to take. God knows that man has talked him out of some  _ very  _ bad decisions in the past. (Could you just imagine little sickly Steve Rogers bribing an official to get into the army after failing the basic health check up?) But this time, the fewer people who know about this, the better. He’ll just have to rely on his own judgement.

He’s considered all possible outcomes. He’s carefully thought through the consequences of his actions. He’s pretty sure that Sam would be proud of him for his sensible-decision making process.

He sucks in a deep breath and texts back.

_ “Sure! I’ll see you there in 3 hours :)” _

  
  


_ ***** _

  
  


Now that he’s made the commitment, he needs to plan.

As Winston Churchill once said, “He who fails to plan is planning to fail”. And he is  _ not _ planning to fail. He starts to mutter under his breath.

“Okay. Bucky was in the army, and his message didn’t sound at all alarmed, so he’s probably not too nervous about this situation, which means that he probably has some experience with this. Couple that with the mafia bandits he’s been harbouring in his house, he probably has been expecting and planning for this eventuality for a long time.”

He lights up.

Grabbing a spare sheet of rough paper and one of the pencils he always has lying around his desk, he starts to sketch out a plan. 

“So for manpower, we have two decently fit and athletic adult males, one with military experience and a super cool metal arm. We also have three scarily skilled and vicious raccoons plus one small and adorable but potentially equally lethal baby raccoon who has possibly been receiving covert training from his superiors under the cover of night. That means we probably have the equivalent of one semi-trained SWAT team ready for this operation.”

Nodding confidently to himself, he makes a few quick notes beside his rough drawing of the characters in question under the heading “Special Skills”. He chews on the tip of his pencil thoughtfully for a few moments before completing a brief inventory of the mission materiel. 

He admittedly does not have much experience with planning tactical operations, his last attempt having not ended the best, but he has since learned from his mistakes and is more than prepared to deliver a flawless plan that is sure to impress Bucky. 

He goes slightly giddy with excitement at that thought and adds a new line under the section on ‘Mission Objectives’ after the entries ‘ _ Goal 1: Stay out of jail’  _ and ‘ _ Goal 1b: in the event that you fail to complete objective 1, have raccoons bust you out of jail’. _

Now that he’s outlined all of the resources at their disposal (heh), he begins to draft a plan of action, drawing on his knowledge of the landscape of the park and doing some quick research on tips from other people who claim to have successfully pulled it off.

  
  


*****

  
  


More than an hour passes.

It’s been hard work, and not something he’s necessarily used to, but he’s done it. Reading through his very detailed plan, he nods in satisfaction.  _ Can’t do any better than this. _

All he has left to do is to get dressed for the event.

_ First rule about not getting caught, don’t look like yourself. _

He surveys his closet. According to Bucky and Sam (and several of this other friends, but there’s no need to get into that today), he dresses like an Old Grandpa or like a male stripper. He huffs at the thought. Just because he likes well-fitting clothes and cargo shorts, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have style!

_ Focus Steve! _

Shaking his head to get himself back on the task at hand and not on the incredibly judgemental and narrow-minded sartorial opinions of his peers, he starts to sift through his clothing. There’s going to be quite a lot of physical work, so it can’t be anything too heavy. It also probably shouldn’t be anything too bright or eye-catching since he wants to be incognito, so he should probably go black.

Nodding at his own wit, he starts to pull out all the black articles of clothing he has that aren’t too restricting and throws them onto his bed for further perusal. Thanks to a brief foray into emo-fashion during his college years and a coincidental bulk sale at the nearby Target, there is quite a pile to go through.

Ultimately, he finds himself having settled on a few articles of essential clothing, except for one key item.  _ The shirt. _

He has a plain, nondescript shirt that is perfect for today, but there are a few sizes to decide between. He knows that he shouldn’t go size S, since the skintight look is his normal trademark and fairly recognisable. At the same time, he doesn’t want to look like he’s wearing a garbage bag flapping in the wind because it would both be annoying and embarrass him in front of Bucky, which he certainly does not want to do! (He already had to compromise on the pants that make his thighs look a whole lot less toned than they actually are because the alternative was a little too flashy, so he can’t turn up looking like a  _ total  _ mess.)

Sighing, he weighs between two options. Finally, he makes his decision, just in time for his to strap his shovel to his motorbike and set off for the park. 

  
  


*****

  
  


Noon on a normal, sunny Saturday afternoon finds him standing at the agreed upon grove of trees, dressed head to toe in unremarkable, black exercise clothes and one medium-sized dri-fit top. 

The only thing slightly of note would be the gray fanny pack strapped securely to his front. No one looking would be able to tell, but inside is a collection of rope, bobby pins, swiss army knife, flashlight with batteries, gauze and a carefully folded sheet with impeccably detailed plans on it. 

From behind his sunglasses, Steve looks around the park discreetly, trying to spot Bucky while not catching any attention. He leans on his shovel casually and checks his watch. 

It’s almost time, and it’s not like Bucky to be late. His pulse quickens.

Despite his attempts at keeping his cool and his very thorough plan, this is still the first time he’s trying to do something like this, and he can’t help but be nervous about it. The part of the park that Bucky picked out is relatively quiet, but there are still a few people milling aimlessly about.

Right before he descends into full-blown panic, he hears a familiar voice.

“Steve!”

Raising a relieved hand in greeting, he turns to Bucky, who looks surprisingly ...normal. He’s dressed in his usual Henley and a pair of loose-fitting black pants, and other than the shovel and buckets in his hand, would look like he did on any other Saturday when Steve came to visit. 

_ Huh, so he didn’t dress differently.  _

Steve is momentarily befuddled until it dawns upon him.  _ The best way to not arouse suspicion is to act as usual. Genius. _

Of course his future husband would be so intelligent! He gives himself a virtual smack for being so obvious before turning his attention to Bucky.

The man squints at him. “You’re looking a little different today, and is that a fanny pack?”

Steve blushes and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, thought that I would maybe try out another outfit that was more suited to today’s activities and my friend Sam gave me this  _ utility tool belt pouch. _ ”

Bucky gives him an ascertaining onceover and Steve pinks under the attention.  _ Must be the fanny pack. Once again, Sam is the  _ _ best _ _.  _

“Anyway, sorry I’m late, hope you weren’t waiting long! I was all ready to go, but then the raccoons started giving me a little trouble. They were a little ...uncooperative today.”

He stiffens.  _ Uncooperative? What does that mean? Are they pulling out of the plan? Are they going to betray us and leave us to the cops? _

Before he can articulate his worries, Bucky spots his shovel and brightens.

“Great, I see that you’ve managed to bring your own equipment! This will make everything go a lot smoother and we’ll be done pretty soon!”

He gives Bucky a small smile. “Yup, that’s me, always prepared!”

Bucky grins back at him. “That’s the spirit! Now, follow me, I know a good spot where the dirt’s fairly loose.”

Steve trails behind Bucky anxiously. He hasn’t spotted where Bucky’s stashed the body, and while it does seem like Bucky knows what to do, the openness of the space leaves him a little uneasy.

“I-is this the first time you’re doing this?”

Bucky laughs. “Oh, of course not! I’ve been raising raccoons for years now, which means that I’m a bit of an old hat at this. You know how raccoons are, I have to do this at least once for each batch, if not more!”

_ Okay then, that’s good right? _

“A-are you sure this is a good spot? There are lots of people around here!”

Bucky waves him off cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this tons of times! No one’s going to stop us.”

Those words bring little comfort. His hands are shaking as they make their way towards the aforementioned ‘spot’ and he just hopes that he doesn’t bring this whole thing down with his nerves. He steels himself and brings up the courage to speak again.

“So, I’m not sure what you had in mind exactly, but I did do a little planning before I came here.”

Bucky turns around with a surprised look on his face. 

“You did? Well, I’m impressed! You can tell me all about it later. To be honest, I usually just come and wing it. The raccoons, I’ve found, are fairly decent at handling the situation once they give in to their natural instincts.”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat. Bucky’s praise had made him preen slightly, but the mention of the raccoons has gotten him all jittery again. It seems that he must have underestimated them if they truly are the masterminds.

Bucky must somehow sense Steve’s unease because his face softens and the hand that isn’t holding the shovel and buckets comes to rest gently on Steve’s shoulder. He looks at him straight in the eyes and says intently, “Hey, I don’t think I’ve said this yet, but I just want you to know how much I appreciate you helping me with this. Not just everyone would throw away a Saturday to come traipse around in the dirt with me, but I’m so glad that you agreed to spend another day with me, even if the activity isn’t the most glamorous.”

In the face of Bucky’s heartfelt stare, Steve feels any remaining hesitation melt away. He looks back earnestly into those blue eyes and the words that come out are equally passionate.

“It’s no problem at all, Buck. I’m so glad you asked me down here today and I would absolutely love nothing more than to shovel some dirt with you today.”

They gaze at each other for a moment more, and Steve knows that he would do anything for Bucky. All other concerns are not important if it would mean that he could spend the rest of his life with this man. He just hopes Bucky feels the same.

After a while, they break apart. Bucky clears his throat and gestures in front of them with his shovel. 

“Well, it’s just right ahead there. It just rained this morning, so now’s a good time to get the job done!”

Taking a deep breath, Steve moves forward determinedly.

_ It’s showtime. _

  
  


*****

  
  


Once they’re both set up with their shovels in hand and buckets nearby on the ground, Steve turns to look at Bucky with a serious expression.

“So, what’s the plan? How deep do we have to dig?”

Bucky hums contemplatively. “Not too far, we just need enough to fill the three buckets actually, and hopefully we’ll get enough worms in that load.”

_ Wait, what?  _

“Worms?”

He voices the question that’s thrown his entire train of thought off.  _ What do worms have to do with this? It’s not like they can eat or decompose an entire body or something! _

If Bucky hears the strange note in his voice, he doesn’t say anything about it. “Yeah, the raccoons are getting to be about 10 weeks now so I need to start teaching them how to find worms in the dirt. I could try to get it from my own garden, but with the number of raccoons I go through, there would just be a massive hole there by this point. I used to try to get some from the pet shop, but then I also needed dirt for them to sift through, and it’s a lot dirtier this way, but also miles cheaper.”

Steve can’t bring himself to respond. His mind is still spiralling in all sorts of directions and his knees are starting to feel weak.  _ Worms… of course he’s looking for worms you idiot! Why on earth would Bucky be asking you to help bury a body in broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon? _

At his silence, Bucky gives him a slightly concerned look. “Steve, you okay there? You’re looking a bit pale…”

This is finally enough to get his mouth moving. “Y-yeah, I’m perfectly fine, nothing to worry about,” he answers faintly, still feeling like his body is miles away from here. 

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, but fortunately, he lets it go. Soon after, they both start shovelling, Steve’s motions somewhat robotic as his mind races frantically.

The most immediate urge is to weep. In relief, or shame, he’s not quite certain. On one hand, he’s immensely grateful that he doesn’t actually have to help cover up a crime and risk going to jail. He’s been hyping himself up the past few hours, but now that he knows that all he’s doing is relocating some dirt and worms back for raccoon preschool training, it’s all he can do to not sink to the ground in complete and utter exhaustion. On the other hand,  _ murder Steve? Really?  _

This is just going to have to be one of those things that hopefully never,  _ ever _ comes up again.

(Maybe he should just bury himself in the dirt)

  
  


*****

  
  


Steve has been acting a little strange today. 

Granted, he’s always been somewhat ...odd, from Bucky’s first encounter with him and Roger to the human-raccoon-pneumonia-survival-kit, but today, he’s especially shifty. His eyes have been darting around the park and his knuckles are turning white under his grip on the shovel. Not to mention the kind of shady all-black outfit. Looking almost like someone who committed a crime and is trying to hide it.

He considers the thought but quickly discards it with a chuckle. Steve’s about as straight and narrow as they come. Other than flirting with displays of public indecency with his clothing choices, the man was just as harmless as little Roger.

Still, the sudden paleness in his cheeks was a cause for concern. Steve was too fit for his own good, so it certainly wasn’t the physical exertion giving him problems. Maybe the all-black outfit was putting him on the path to heatstroke? 

Bucky still wasn’t sure what motivated Steve to show up dressed like an amateur bouncer going for a job interview. It was almost 90 degrees out, so the black must be absorbing all sorts of heat. Still, they had been standing under the shade of trees this whole time, so it was unlikely to be the cause of his weird behaviour.

Bucky pondered for a bit and replayed the conversation in his head while methodically scooping dirt into the bucket, paying careful attention to all of Steve’s cues. The man had seemed a little off right from the moment Bucky saw him that day, but it had become especially pronounced right when Bucky first mentioned the…

_ Worms. _

He closed his eyes in shame. You wouldn’t suspect it looking at Steve, but there were many other things you wouldn’t suspect about Steve just by looking, and a fear of worms wasn’t the most uncommon thing. Thinking back, he had forgotten to tell Steve what they were going to be doing, so the man had gotten all dressed up, gone to the park happily, all excited for a day out, only to be confronted with his worst fear. 

Steve was so willing to help him, even coming out into the territory of his greatest nemesis without saying a word of complaint. Bucky was a  _ terrible  _ friend. He had even brought his own shovel for crying out loud!

Then again, what had he been expecting when he brought a shovel out to a park on a Saturday afternoon? There weren’t that many other possible activities the two of them could be doing together with that combination of factors.

“Hey Steve?”

The man in question looked up curiously at the sound of his name, face still a shade paler than normal.

“You sure you’re alright? You looked really shocked when I told you what we were doing today, I hope I didn’t mess things up too bad.”

Steve is quick to reassure him. “Oh no, not at all! I was just a little…”

He trails off as if embarrassed, so Bucky takes pity on him and tries to help him complete the sentence.

“Afraid of the worms?” He offers softly.

Steve does a double take. “What? No! It’s not the worms, I mean back in elementary school I even used to e—” He coughs and looks away. “It’s um, it’s not the worms.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be confused. “If you’re not afraid of worms, then why were you acting so strange when I mentioned them? What did you think we were here to do then?” He asks, perplexed.

If possible, Steve grows even paler and Bucky can practically see the sweat forming on Steve’s brow. “N-nothing, maybe just, digging a hole or two? Some friendly bonding activities, just two men and their shovels, you know how it is!”

He gains momentum through the answer, and by the end of it, he seems back to normal. Bucky still isn’t fully satisfied with that answer, but he would hate to push Steve even more on something that has clearly made him uncomfortable.

Giving Steve an easygoing smile, he nods in (fake) understanding and changes the topic. Visibly relieved, Steve immediately perks up and soon enough, the two are engaged in an animated conversation as they fill the buckets.

  
  


*****

  
  


Half an hour later, the pair leave the park with their desired dirt.

Most of it is in the buckets, but a fair amount can be found on their persons. Fortunately, Bucky’s truck has seen much worse, so they bundle up and head back to his house. 

After Wormgate, Steve had managed to get back into the conversation and had yet another marvellous time with the man of his dreams. 

(All the way until the point where Bucky got concerned that there weren’t enough worms in the dirt that they collected and decided that they needed to go find a few more by hand from the surrounding soil. He shudders just thinking about it. He didn’t think he had a worm phobia, but now he’s not so sure.)

Bucky calling him out on his body-hiding-conspiracy-theory had been a very close call, and to think that he had almost whipped out his diagrammed blueprints! Fortunately, with his quick wits and total control over his body language, he had managed to slip a quick white lie in there and deceive Bucky before diverting the subject. It wasn’t easy, but he was able to pull that little con off. Of course, the hour wasted on planning for a fake prison break was a mistake, but then again, he could just consider it training for another time. (He’s still certain at least one of the raccoons is hiding a secret crime family in El Salvador or New Jersey. His money’s on Romeo.) 

Still, the day would be an overall success. Sitting beside Bucky in the passenger seat now, he just resists the urge to fist pump at his own brilliance.

He must be less successful at containing his smugness than he realises, because Bucky shoots him a fond look and asks, “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

“Nope, just thinking back about what a great job we did today.” 

Still riding on the high from his skilful manoeuvring, he answers smoothly, and his response isn’t just slick from the mud that has somehow made it under his shirt. (Damn it! I knew I should have just gone with the smaller size — this is exactly why I don’t like my clothes to flap around!)

Despite some squelchy sensations in unfortunate places, his bright mood hasn’t dimmed by the time they pull up to Bucky’s house. They unload the buckets and try to empty whatever soil they can out of their pockets before giving up and just settling on tracking a path through the house.

When they enter, they are greeted by the loud squawking of a pack of raccoons that have been ignored for a little too long. Bucky immediately goes to greet his raccoon children with a whole slew of endearments that would be odd or even full on disturbing if said by anyone else. Coming from Bucky, it just adds to his endearing nature. He’s just a man who really loves his raccoons. 

(Even if they are crazed little monsters in furry disguise.)

Steve hangs back and watches the reunion longingly. He wants nothing more than to be one of Bucky’s trash pandas, but alas, life is a cruel mistress.

In the end, he has to settle for sitting next to Richard and trying to instruct him to dig through the soil that they have piled in what used to be an inflatable children’s swimming pool by demonstrating himself. Every time a worm wriggles over his finger, he could swear that the raccoon is laughing at him, but by the time Bucky peers over from his side of the pool with an encouraging smile, the little poser is back to innocently staring at him attentively and Steve is forced to grit his teeth and continue to try to cajole the garbage rat to get his hands (paws?) dirty.

Finally, when all the raccoons are happily sifting through the dirt and snacking on the worms that they find, the two men are able to sit back and relax. Looking at the scene around him, he’s once again struck by how lucky he is to have all of this.

There may be dirt on his nose, spaghetti worms and a bunch of evil masked beasts, but he’s sitting next to the best man in the world with their makeshift family, and it’s the happiest he’s ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one ever said that Steve's good sense was his finest quality.


End file.
